


A Hazy Shade of Winter

by AmyPond45



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Season/Series 11, Wincest - Freeform, platonic sastiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8862940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45
Summary: Alternate ending for 11.23. Dean carries out the plan to sacrifice himself by destroying Amara, saving the world in the process.  Just before he does, he makes Cas promise to stay with Sam, to "look after him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." After Dean is gone, Sam is consumed with grief, going mad with desperation to get Dean back or die trying. In a last ditch effort to save Sam and make good on his promise to Dean, Castiel wipes Sam's memories of his brother, leaving Sam a broken shell of a man who can barely remember what he had for breakfast. This story assumes the London Men of Letters storyline doesn't happen, God has died or disappeared, and there is no Mary Winchester returned from the dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I still can't believe this thing is done! All hail to [satanic-prom-dress](http://lux-tuli.tumblr.com), the wonderful artist who picked my crazy prompt, in which I really needed to see Sam protesting Dean's sacrifice in the Season 11 Finale, then suffering when Dean does it anyway. Also, thank you for putting up with my need to make Castiel useful to the max! Thanks to the mods of the 2016 [sastiel-bigbang](http://sastiel-bigbang.livejournal.com/profile) for tolerating my whining and bitching (because I couldn't make this story do what I thought it would when I started it but all I got was understanding and forgiveness. Mwah!) And last but definitely not least, many heartfelt thanks to my amazing, awesome beta, [onlythefireborn](http://onlythefireborn.livejournal.com/profile), who asked excellent questions and taught me many things that will improve my writing. I don't deserve you!

  
_Won't You Stop and Remember Me?_ \- Paul Simon

**//**

**Then:**

"We need somebody to get close to her. Somebody with a personal connection."

All eyes turned to Dean.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Dean demanded. "How do I smuggle this thing?"

"You won't carry the bomb," Rowena said. "You'll _be_ the bomb. I'm going to take what's in there, and put it in here." She pressed the palm of her hand to Dean's chest, and Sam could see Dean trying not to flinch. "Once you get close to her, you press your fingers together like so....and boom."

Dean swallowed hard as Sam's eyes widened in horror.

"Okay," Dean said, obviously controlling the urge to be sick.

"No!" The word punched out of Sam before he could stop it.

"Sammy..."

"No, Dean! There has to be another way! I won't let you do it!"

Dean glanced around the room, at all the faces watching them with varying expressions of sympathy, despair, and, in the case Crowley and Rowena, smirking fascination.

"Can I speak with you for a minute?" Dean spoke quietly to Sam, gesturing toward the hallway outside the library, toward the bedrooms.

Sam was aware of all eyes watching them as they retreated to Dean's room, Sam's heart pounding so hard in his chest he couldn't understand why it didn't burst.

"There is no other way this time, Sam," Dean said, turning to his brother after the door was closed. "I have to do this. You know I have to do it. Alone."

"No. No way. I'm going with you!" Sam insisted, clenching his fists against the roaring in his ears.

"Sammy, you can't. You can't, okay? It won't work if you come with me. I have to go alone. She wants _me,_ alone. That's always been the deal."

"I won't let you go! I won't let you go without me!" Sam grabbed Dean's shirts, needing to hold onto him, as if he could stop Dean doing what he had to by sheer force.

"Yes, you will," Dean said firmly, grasping Sam's wrists, steady and strong. "You will, Sam. We're out of options here, and you know it. This is the way it has to be."

"No!" The word roared out of Sam like a steam engine, shuddering with grief and Sam's increasing sense of powerlessness.

"Listen to me," Dean said, his voice getting softer in the face of Sam's passion. "It ain't gonna be easy, after I'm gone. And I know better than to try to get you to promise not to try to fix it, or come after me, or get me back. But I'm asking you, Sam. I'm begging you. Don't come after me, okay? Don't follow me into the Empty, man. Stay here. Find a hunter, somebody who understands you. Somebody who knows the life. Settle down as well as you can and live your life, okay? At least give me that, going into this."

Sam could feel hot tears slipping down his cheeks, blurring his vision. "I can't. I can't. No way, Dean."

"Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me, Sammy. I need you to back me up on this thing, you hear what I'm saying? This ain't gonna be easy, man. I'm fuckin' scared, okay? And I need you to be strong so I can do this, you got me? I need you to have my back on this."

"No, no, no," Sam chanted, shaking his head.

"I don't want to go into this thinking it won't work. I need you to believe in me here, you get me? I need your faith in me that I can do this."

"I'm coming with you." Sam grit his teeth, determined and fierce. "I need to come with you. I can't let you go alone. Can't let you _die_ alone."

Sam dropped his head helplessly as the last words slipped out as a choked whisper.

"Hey, hey, come on, now," Dean soothed, pulling Sam in. Sam collapsed against his brother, burying his face in Dean's shoulder as Dean rose up onto his tip-toes to accommodate Sam's tall, slender frame. Sam cried angry tears as Dean held him, rocking him as he had done when Sam was a child, when he came to Dean with a skinned knee or a bruised ego after a particularly tough day on the playground. "It's the only way this time, Sammy. It's the way it's gotta be, okay? It's the way it is."

Sam couldn't help wishing this plan wouldn't work. Ending up after the end of the world in the Empty with Dean was so much preferable to survival in a saved world without Dean, forever knowing Dean had gone to his death alone. Forever knowing that Dean was already in the Empty, waiting for him, as Billie had promised.

Sam would give anything to go in his place, or barring that, to go with him. But Dean would be furious at Sam for joining him in the Empty too soon, for not at least making the effort to live without him. So Sam would try. He would make the effort. For Dean's sake, if not his own. He didn't have to like it, though. Probably wouldn't ever learn to accept it, and he would not, _could_ not, root for this plan to work. He couldn't.

Just before Dean pulled back from their embrace, Sam felt him slip his hand into Sam's pocket, leaving the little amulet there, a silent promise between them.

"Keep it safe for me, Sammy," Dean murmured as Sam choked back his tears. "Keep it safe till I get back, y'hear?"

Sam nodded, swallowing down his helplessness and frustration as the brothers returned to the library so that Rowena could insert the bomb into Dean's chest. Then God took them to the cemetery in Lawrence where their mother was buried, so they could say goodbye.

In front of the others, Sam managed to display typical Winchester stoicism because it was expected, because Dean needed it, and because he'd already said his piece to his brother and Dean understood.

He couldn't help one last protest, though.

"You know you don't have to do this." _You can stay with me. We can die together, go into the Empty together, after the world ends. If even the Empty still exists..._

"'Course I do," Dean answered, and that was it.

While Sam said his goodbyes to their mother's grave, Dean turned to Castiel, who pulled Dean into a tight hug and offered to go with him, which of course Dean refused.

"I have to do this alone," he reminded Cas, who lowered his eyes in sorrow.

Then Dean glanced over Cas's shoulder at his brother, and exacted the promise he couldn't ask of Sam directly. "Sam's gonna be a mess after this, Cas. I need you to look after him for me, okay? Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

Cas nodded, Dean's request embedding itself in his subconscious, almost as if he had one.

When Chuck teleported Dean off to only-God-knew-where, the rest of the group stood awkwardly together, mostly not looking at each other.

Then Crowley, Rowena, and God disappeared, leaving Sam and Castiel alone.

**//**

**Six Months Later: Castiel**

"He's dying."

Castiel stood watch over Sam as he slept, passed out after another evening with the bottle. Usually the angel had to half-drag, half-carry the drunken hunter from the library, where he most often drank as he carried on his futile search for a way to bring his brother back. Tonight the bottle had been empty, rolling around under the library table, and carrying Sam from the library to his bedroom had been easier than usual, since Sam was dead to the world and couldn't protest.

Carrying Sam wasn't as big a job as it was even a month ago. Sam had lost weight, got drunk even faster now. He rarely ate, no matter what Castiel fed him. It had been almost six months since Dean's sacrifice, and Sam's prognosis was not good.

"I promised Dean I'd keep him alive," Castiel said. "But even when I heal his physical injuries, his mind will not allow him to remain healthy. He is growing weaker. I cannot force him to stay alive when it is clearly against his will to do so."

"So let him go." Gabriel shrugged.

Castiel had conversed periodically with the archangel since Dean's "sacrifice." Even Castiel could not use the word "death" when he thought of Dean. He could not imagine Dean permanently ended. Castiel supposed he had developed the ability to grieve during his time with humanity, but more than that he had adopted the habit of disbelieving in the finality of death. Partly because as an angel he knew that souls went to Heaven, so he had always imagined being able to visit Dean regularly once he was there. It had never occurred to Castiel that Dean's soul might go into the Empty and be lost to him forever. It was too disturbing to contemplate, and Castiel preferred to imagine Dean still existing somewhere, somehow, despite all evidence to the contrary.

And the thought of losing Sam as well, of never seeing Sam's dimpled smile or sad-eyed gaze again... This idea was more troublesome than Castiel could admit, even to himself.

"I cannot," Castiel admitted now. "Dean would be very angry with me."

Gabriel shrugged noncommittally. "Something tells me Dean would understand," he commented dryly. "After all. He'd have his brother back. That's pretty much all Dean ever cared about, isn't it? Despite whatever he made you promise."

"Yes," Castiel sighed, overcome by grief for a moment when he thought of Dean. "But I cannot allow Sam to die."

"Doesn't seem like you've got much choice, brother," Gabriel said, almost gently. "Kid's gonna die. Obviously, it's what he wants."

Castiel said nothing, and for another moment the two angels stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing down at the sleeping form on the bed. Sam's breaths were labored, as if even in sleep he was willing his body to stop functioning, to give up.

"There might be another way," Castiel said finally. "I could do what I did when he came back from the Cage, after his Wall came down."

Gabriel gave him a sharp look. "What? You gonna shift his memories of his brother like you shifted his memories of the Cage?"

"If I do that, he could be happier," Castiel said. "He could live."

"You'd take his memories of Dean away from him." Gabriel shook his head. "His reason for living. Not sure that's such a good idea, brother."

"Not take them," Castiel argued. "Just push them aside. Dean won't be the center of his universe any more, so Sam can go on with his life."

"And you think Dean would be okay with that idea?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

Castiel thought for a moment, then nodded. "I believe he would approve," he answered. "Dean has always wanted Sam to have a normal life. Perhaps, in this way, he can."

Gabriel shook his head again, a tiny smirk turning up the corners of his lips. "Sam's gonna notice there's something missing," he warned. "They're soulmates, remember? You remove one, the other one wastes away, pining for the other half of his soul. How are you gonna heal soul-sickness, Castiel?"

"I will be there," Castiel answered, suddenly more sure of this than he had been of anything he had ever done. "I will be there for Sam. I will always be there, and as far as he knows, I always have been there."

Gabriel whistled. "You're gonna replace Dean in his soul? Wow, Cas. I gotta say, I'm impressed. That's a level of commitment I never would have guessed you were capable of."

Castiel frowned, unsure whether to feel insulted. "I could never replace Dean," he said. "But if Sam believes I have always been in his life, he might at least trust me enough to allow me to treat his soul-sickness."

"If you don't fracture his mind in the process," Gabriel said.

"It is a risk I am willing to take," Castiel said, locking his jaw stubbornly. "I cannot allow Sam to waste away, as you say. If I do this, his grief and sense of loss will be lessened considerably, and he may even be able to live a long, healthy life."

Gabriel shook his head again. "Careful, brother," he said softly.

"What do you mean?" Castiel demanded.

Gabriel cocked his head, looking at him sidelong. "You sure you're doing this for Sam? 'Cause from where I'm standing, you sound more than a little like a man in love."

Castiel frowned. "As an angel, I am incapable of experiencing romantic love, as you well know," he protested. "Dean charged me with taking care of Sam in his absence, and it is a responsibility I take seriously. Dean assured me that I was the best friend he and Sam had, that I was like a brother to them. If I have learned anything from the Winchesters, it is that promises to family take precedence over all other commitments. I am all the family Sam has left, and I will do everything in my power to keep him alive and healthy. It is the least I can do."

"Uh huh," Gabriel nodded. "You keep telling yourself that."

"Gabriel, I am grateful for your consultation in these matters, but I fail to see how this particular line of questioning is helping to heal Sam. And right now, that is my primary concern."

"Of course it is," Gabriel smirked. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got other stuff to do. It's been real, brother."

And with that, Gabriel disappeared.

Castiel turned to the bed and bent down so he could lay the tips of his fingers against Sam's forehead. A pulse of light formed under Sam's skin, growing bright for a moment before fading.

Sam took a deep breath and almost immediately began to breathe normally.

"Sleep well, Sam," Castiel murmured as he left the room, dimming the light behind him.

**//**

**Now: Sam**

He's dreaming that dream again

Sam's running through a forest, searching for something. The air feels cool and crisp, but Sam's skin is clammy with fear and the adrenaline rush of pursuit. It's a fall day, and the woods are primeval, dense with underbrush and thick with tall evergreen trees that block out the sun. Sam has to jump over dead tree branches and dart around live trees to stay on the trail. He's hot and sweaty and out of breath, but he doesn't stop because he knows if he can just make it around the next corner, he'll find what he's looking for. He's desperate to find it, as if his life depends on it, and the anxiety of not knowing what it is he's looking for makes his head and his lungs ache with effort.

He wakes out of breath, heart pounding, almost passing out. Which is funny, considering he was just sleeping. His body thinks otherwise, though. He's soaked with sweat and the sheets are tangled around his legs, as if they were trying to hold him down or trip him up if he tried to leap away. He lies panting, staring up at the ceiling in the familiar gloom of his bedroom, pushing shaking hands through his damp hair.

Castiel is MIA, of course. Always is when Sam wakes up from a nightmare. Technically, this makes sense, since the angel doesn't sleep. But Sam misses the warm reassurance of his hand on Sam's shoulder, pretending everything's okay, giving his awkward brand of angel comfort that isn't exactly comforting.

But Castiel's companionship is all Sam allows himself these days. He's a hunter and a Man of Letters; as such he can't risk endangering people with his friendship, or even with his presence for very long. Too many people have already died that way: Jess, Sarah, Ellen and Jo, Bobby, Kevin, and Charlie. He includes his mother and father on that list when he's being painfully honest with himself, which is practically always. He won't do that to anyone else, ever again.

Through it all, Castiel has been there, off and on. He's pulled Sam's bacon out of the fire more times than he could count. He's healed and fixed Sam so he could fight another day, and that's what Sam does because it's what he was made to do, apparently. And Sam's grateful to the angel. Really, he is. Sam's probably a little insane, after all the years of fighting monsters and going to Hell and getting hit on the head and nearly choked to death so many times, but Castiel doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't even really seem to notice, which is comforting in its own way.

Castiel is probably a little insane himself, if angels suffer from mental health issues. Or maybe it's just part of his angel nature to be a little wrong in the head. At any rate, Sam accepts him the way he is, warts and all. Probably loves him, if it comes to that, not that Castiel could ever return those kinds of feelings. Or any feelings at all, really.

It's a weird relationship, all right, but better than none. Better than some, Sam adds in those moments when he considers the nature of his friendship with the angel.

 _He’s pulled my bacon out of the fire more times than I can count,_ Sam reflects again, but in his head it’s a deeper voice he hears. It’s not an expression Sam uses, but one that he’s heard so many times it’s second nature to him, or at least to his subconscious.

Must be Dad, he thinks, confusion wrinkling his brow. Dad must have said that. Which makes sense, since John Winchester had a deep, rich baritone voice that could make shivers of fear go up Sam’s spine when it was raised in anger or when John was threatening anything that dared to get in his way.

Sam doesn't remember much about his father. Hell, he doesn't remember much, period. Multiple concussions will do that to a man after a while. He's still got muscle-memories, and he remembers the things that matter, like how to kill a werewolf or a vampire, and most of the time he can recall at least one of the times he's done that in the past. But the details are hazy, or the peripheral memories are gone, sometimes both. His brain is _just a big ol' hunk o' swiss cheese, all squishy and full o' holes._

It's that deep voice again, trying to distract him when he gets morbid, deflecting the seriousness of Sam's brain damage with a joke.

"There are things you don't want to remember, Sam," Castiel reminds him on days when the voice won't leave him alone , snarking and making lame jokes till Sam wants to scream, starts repeating the jokes out loud to Castiel just to get them out of his head. Castiel squints at him, then shakes his head as if he's heard it all before. "Terrible things. Your brain has submerged many of your memories just to allow you to keep functioning."

"It's like this other personality," Sam complains, although he isn't, really. If he's honest with himself, he's grateful to the voice. It keeps him company. "I must've been such a miserable, lonely kid."

"I believe your father did leave you alone quite often."

"But you were there," Sam says. "You were my imaginary friend. My guardian angel."

"Technically, I was neither," Castiel notes.

"But I didn't figure out that angels were real until after I left college," Sam muses. "Why did I leave college again?"

"You left college to find your father," Castiel says. "After your girlfriend died."

"Right," Sam nods, recalling a vague memory of soft blond curls and sparkling green eyes. "Jessica."

It was years ago now, and Sam doesn't remember much about the girl he used to love except the feelings of comfort and home and belonging that she gave him. He'd never had that before, he thinks, since his mom died when he was a baby, and his dad was on the road so much while Sam was growing up. After Jessica died, Sam took up his father's cause and never looked back, doing his part to fight the forces of darkness, _one evil son-of-a-bitch at a time._

It's that voice again, all bravado and smirking charm, teasing away his gloomy thoughts with a crooked grin and flashing green eyes; it fills Sam's head and makes him think there was something he was supposed to remember... something about the darkness...

The Darkness. That was the thing that almost destroyed him. Almost destroyed the _world._ It's been over a year now, probably longer, since Amara threatened to take it all down. Cas for his part said yes to Lucifer in an attempt to stop her, something Sam still has difficulty processing. Lucifer's gone now, loose in the world, and Cas and Sam have been hunting him without much luck, since Lucifer can sense his former vessels, knows exactly what they're up to at any given time, and probably sends them hallucinations that they're not even aware of, just to mess with them. Just to keep them off guard.

If he cares enough to bother, which at this point Sam doubts. Lucifer's probably too busy messing with world politics. Sam's pretty sure he had a hand in the recent presidential election, at any rate.

As for Amara, Sam's not exactly sure what happened. It's all a little hazy, to be honest. Cas says there was a battle, and a lot of people and supernatural creatures died, including Crowley and Rowena, which is such a relief Sam can hardly believe his luck. God and some of the angels were involved. At one point God even healed Michael and reconstituted Gabriel so they could join the fight. Sam would like to remember that. He thinks he almost can, but the memory slips away like Gabriel’s cheerfully ironic smile. So he takes Cas’s word for it when the angel assures him they’re all gone, Amara and God included.

They won.

Now Sam’s life goes on as it always has, one day at a time, one case at a time. Nobody ever calls, the way he remembers happening when he was a child, but he takes that as an indication that his work is thorough but under the radar, the way it should be. Once in a while he recalls the details of a case as if it were yesterday, only to research it and discover the case happened years ago. It’s all jumbled in his head, but he’s mostly okay with that. He’s helped relieve the world of a lot of evil, and if he’s lost a few brain cells in the process, it seems a small price to pay.

He’s lonely, but he has Cas. It’s a good life. It’s better than he deserves, and he’s grateful just to be alive, just to be able to keep doing what he does for as long as he can. 

**//**

"Cas, can I ask you something?"

They're in the library, researching their latest case. Well, Sam is, anyway. Castiel flits in and out, ostensibly checking sources, but Sam suspects he's really just bored.

"Of course," Castiel answers, standing stiff as a board on the other side of the table.

"Do you ever miss your family? The other angels, I mean. Don't you ever wish you could go home?"

"This _is_ my home," Castiel says. "My home is with you."

"Yeah, but.. I mean, don't you ever miss being around other people who understand you? Angels, I mean. Other angels who understand what it's like to be you."

Castiel tilts his head quizzically. "I have you," he says simply.

"Yeah, but I'm human," Sam protests. "Your angel nature is so different. You're -- complex in ways I can't possibly understand. There's just no way I can ever know what it's like to be you. Not really. We're two different species. All I'm saying is, you must get lonely sometimes, with only me for company."

"I have existed for many millenia, Sam," Castiel reminds him. "Living out your life with you is only a small speck on the vast timeline of my existence. It is no hardship, I assure you."

Sam huffs out a breath and feels a flush creep up his chest, across his cheeks. "No, that's not exactly what I meant," he says softly. "But thank you. Good to know I'm not a burden on you."

"What about you, Sam?" Castiel says, and Sam is impressed by the angel's sensitivity. "Are you lonely with only me for company? Do you wish for someone more like yourself, another hunter, perhaps, who could share your life?"

Sam shakes his head. "Tried that," he mutters morosely. "She died."

"Jessica was not a hunter," Castiel reminds him. "Perhaps if you were to find someone who understood your life and the risks involved, you would not be so lonely."

"Who says I'm lonely?" Sam challenges, more disturbed by the thought than he cares to admit. "I have you, don't I?"

"Yes, you have me," Castiel agrees.

**//**

Next week they're on a hunt when something weird happens.

"Sam!" the petite, dark-haired woman in a sheriff's uniform greets him at the scene. Two victims, both with their hearts ripped out of their chests. Classic werewolf behavior. Classic case. Until this woman who seems to know him grabs him and pulls him down into a hug that would have been awkward even if she wasn't so short. "Jesus, Sam, I thought you were dead!"

When she releases him and takes a step back, Sam glances at her tag, wracking his memory.

"No," he huffs out. "No, uh -- Sheriff Mills. Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated." He tries to smile, but the woman is looking at him strangely.

"Jody," she corrects. "It's Jody, Sam. Jesus, are you okay? Where's Dean?"

"Where's -- who?" Sam stares at her, forcing down his feelings of inadequacy and the constant nagging guilt about his lack of memory. Obviously, he should know this woman.

"Dean." Jody's looking at him like she can't believe she has to spell it out. "Your brother. Where's your brother, Sam? Is he – Damn it, Sam. We heard both of you _died._ And when I couldn't get hold of you, I thought – Did you throw out all your old phones or something?"

Sam shakes his head, desperate to grasp her meaning. He had a brother? This woman knew him from before?

"Sam sustained fairly major injuries in the Final Battle," Castiel speaks up. Sam releases a sigh of relief as he feels the angel's shoulder brush his arm. He's a warm, steady presence at Sam's side, and Sam's more grateful than he will admit to have him barge in. "He spent six weeks in a coma, and when he woke up he had lost many of his memories."

Jody blinks, her hands going automatically to her hips, right hand hovering over her duty belt as she scrutinizes the angel.

"And you are...?"

"Agent Tielle, ma'am," Castiel answers smoothly, giving a little bow. "Cassandro Tielle, at your service." He flips out his badge, and Jody bends forward to study it, all the while keeping her hands safely on her belt.

Sam's proud of Castiel in that moment, proud of his poise and ease in a tense situation. He has vague memories of an earlier, more awkward Castiel, one who had difficulty convincing authorities that he was a real FBI agent. He's more confident now, and Sam's grateful for that.

"Agent Tielle, huh?" Jody glances between Cas and Sam, then pins a skeptical gaze on Sam. "You got yourself a new partner here, Sam?"

"Not so new," Sam answers. "Cas and I have been working together for a while now."

"Cas – Tielle," Jody frowns. "As in Castiel, the angel."

Sam jumps. He did not expect _that._ How did she know?

"Apparently, I knew you pretty well, before," Sam suggests cautiously.

"Oh, you think?" Jody crosses her arms over her chest and Sam relaxes. At least she's not quite so defensive now. "Wow. Brain injury, huh? Lost your memories. Oh Sam, I'm so sorry."

She invites them home for dinner, and they meet her "daughters," Claire and Alex.

"Where's Dean?" they ask, almost simultaneously, and Jody pulls them aside, says something low under her breath.

The girls turn back to Sam, staring.

"Oh God, Sam," Alex stammers. "I'm so sorry."

"Castiel!" Claire draws in a gasp as Sam's partner steps in the door behind him. Sam lifts an eyebrow as the girl pushes past him to fling her arms around the angel. He glances awkwardly at Jody, who gives him a quick smile that Sam feels he should understand, if he only knew her better.

"Damn it!" Claire pulls back suddenly and punches Castiel in the shoulder. "You never called! You never answered your phone!" She shoves him. "You promised, you asshole! You promised you'd always answer my calls!"

"Claire..." Jody's voice is low, a warning and a reprimand. But Claire'Fs having none of it.

"We thought you were dead, and you couldn't make a fucking phone call?"

"Claire..." This time Jody takes a step, lays a hand on the girl's arm.

Claire glares daggers at her, and Castiel recovers enough to muster a look of sincerity and compassion.

"I am sorry, Claire," he says gently. "I did not realize that it would be important to you to know that Sam and I were fine..."

"We thought the world was ending, and you didn't think to call us when you saved it," Claire snarks. "Since it happens all the time, right? The world ending, you saving it. Just another day at the office for you."

"Claire, why don't you show Sam the guest room so he can change his shirt, huh?" Jody interrupts. "Alex, I need you and Cas in the kitchen. Stat!"

Sam jumps at Jody's sharp tone, and Claire's jaw locks stubbornly; for a moment it looks like she might defy Jody's order. Then she rolls her eyes, huffs out a long sigh, and leads Sam down the hallway to the bedrooms.

Sam follows after her, shooting a questioning glance at Castiel. For his part, the angel looks so confused and chagrined by Claire's reprimand that he can only shrug at Sam before following his hostess into the kitchen. Sam is struck again by how human Cas seems sometimes, and it steadies him. Grounds him in the midst of his own confusion.

"Okay, so you really don't remember anything? About how you stopped the apocalypse, I mean," Claire asks as she opens a door at the end of the hall and steps inside. It's a small room, furnished simply with a single bed, small dresser, and a child-sized desk and chair. Apparently, Jody's guest expectations are a little limited.

Sam raises his eyebrows at Claire and tries to seem as unthreatening as possible, given their difference in height and her explosive temperament.

"No," he agrees with a little shake of his head. "I really don't. I mean, I get hazy flashes of things sometimes, but nothing specific."

"And Dean?" she presses. "You don't remember Dean at all?"

"Castiel says he was my partner," Sam answers, repeating what Castiel told him in the car on the drive over. "Everyone assumed he was my brother."

Claire's mouth drops open, and she squints up at him skeptically. "Seriously? Dude, you realize your entire life story is online. Don't tell me you've never googled your own name before."

Sam clears his throat. "I haven't, actually," he admits. "It never occurred to me. Cas tells me everything I need to know. I trust him."

Claire peers up at him for a moment, considering, and he tries not to flinch. "You're really messed up, aren't you?" she breathes, then shakes her head with a little laugh. "Not like I'm one to talk. Mother tortured and dead, father possessed by an angel and dead and all."

"Your dad was possessed by an angel?" Sam lifts his eyebrows again, and Claire raises her black-rimmed eyes to his.

"Yeah," she smirks. "By Castiel. You don't remember that either, do you?"

Sam shakes his head, frowning. "But that doesn't make any sense," he protests. "Claire, how old are you?"

"I'm twenty," she answers. "Fully emancipated. If I could make enough money, I'd be out of here, on my own by now. Hunting. Doing my part to keep the world safe from monsters like the ones that destroyed my family. Like you."

"Twenty," Sam repeats. "And your parents – they died when you were a baby?"

Claire shakes her head, smirk growing a little more lopsided. "No. Sometimes I wish. It might be easier if I couldn't remember them at all." She realizes what she's said immediately, flicks a glance up at Sam's face. "I mean, it is what it is, right? I was ten when my dad said yes to Castiel. We were a normal family before that. Dysfunctional, maybe, but only in the regular, normal ways. My dad was a religious nut. My mom was a little too trusting. Loved him a little too much."

"So – ten years ago." Sam shakes his head. "I don't understand. Castiel said – I thought he was with me since I was a child."

Claire frowns, considering. "According to the _Supernatural_ books, he came straight from Heaven before he raised Dean from Hell. That's what it says online, anyway. You can check it out for yourself."

"I will," Sam nods as he puts his duffel on the bed.

Claire takes her cue to leave and turns away from him, putting her hand on the door.

"Sam?" she turns back and Sam looks up expectantly. "I hope you get your memories back. Dean was pretty cool, for an old guy. Kind of unforgettable, actually."

Sam sucks a breath in through his nose, lets it out as he shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, loosening his shoulders to relieve the tension he's feeling.

"Apparently not," he says with a little shake of his head.

Claire nods and lowers her eyes as she leaves, closing the door behind her. But Sam could swear he saw tears in her eyes for a moment, before her tough, defiant mask fell into place.

**//**

Once he's changed out of his sweaty dress shirt and tie, Sam stuffs them into the duffel and pulls out a clean tee-shirt and jeans. He takes off his dress shoes and pants and lays the suit on the bed next to his duffel, then smoothes his hair down in the little mirror over the dresser.

Presentable. Less sweaty. Definitely more comfortable.

He opens the door to the hallway softly, then moves down the hall to the kitchen on stocking feet. He can hear Jody and Castiel talking, and when he hears his name he stops just outside the door. Something about all he's learned today, all he's just learned from Claire, makes him wait and listen. They obviously don't know he's there, and although he knows he shouldn't eavesdrop, he can't seem to stop himself.

"Sam deserves to know what happened to his brother, Castiel," Jody's saying, keeping her voice deliberately low.

"He knows," Castiel answers. "I explained it to him."

"But he doesn't remember Dean _at all_ ," Jody murmurs. Sam hears dishes scraping together. "That's just wrong. Can't you do something to fix that?"

Castiel says nothing for a moment, and it makes Sam's heart race.

"Castiel?" Jody prompts, and Sam hears a spoon clank, as if Jody's put it down and turned to face the angel.

"I am not entirely certain that I can," Castiel admits finally.

"You haven't even tried, have you?" Jody sucks in a breath. "Castiel, Sam needs those memories. They're part of who he is. A big part. He's not himself without them. It's like -- it's like he's walking around soulless again."

"No," Castiel protests sharply. "It is not. That is not an apt comparison, I assure you."

"But Dean was everything to him," Jody continues. "His whole life. Way more than just a partner, more than just his best friend. More than a brother, for God's sake. Sam can't just lose that and still be Sam, you know?"

Castiel says nothing for another moment, and Sam holds his breath, straining to hear every word, every inflection.

"The memories were killing him," Castiel says. "He was dying."

Jody is silent for so long that Sam almost interrupts. When she finally speaks, her tone is low and dark, incredulous.

"Okay, wait a minute. Are you telling me –– Are you saying you _deliberately_ removed his memories of his brother?"

"He was dying," Castiel repeats. "I did what I had to do."

"Wow," Jody huffs, then sucks in another breath. "That's just...Wow."

Sam sinks back against the wall, his heart slowing as he feels a weight pushing against it. He can imagine Castiel's face right now, the stubborn set of his jaw, the narrowed blue eyes. Castiel isn't sure he's done the right thing, but he's sure he's done the thing that had to be done. Sam knows that look. He knows his angel. How could there be someone else? Someone else he trusted and cared for as much as Cas? How could Sam ever love anyone like he loves Castiel?

"You need to fix him, Cas," Jody says. "Give him back those memories. Let him grieve."

"I am not certain that I can," Castiel admits. "It's been over a year. His brain has formed new memories, filled in the blanks in his own past, and built new neural pathways..."

"Castiel, I lost my husband and my son to something supernatural," Jody reminds the angel. "It was violent and bloody, and Sam barely stopped me from joining them. I was grateful to him because he saved me from having to kill my own son. But I also felt guilty for surviving when my family were dead. All those feelings are _normal,_ Castiel! They're part of the grieving process!"

"It's different for Sam," Castiel insists. "Dean was his soulmate. Sam could not go on living with the knowledge that Dean was gone. It was killing him. He was literally dying."

"You keep saying that," Jody lowered her voice, as if she could tell that Sam might be listening. "But that's how it is for humans. For all of us. When you lose someone you love, the grief is overwhelming for a while. But it gets better. Sam deserves to know that. He has the right to learn that he can survive even that greatest of losses. And you don't have the right to take that away from him. No one does."

"Sheriff Mills, I mean no disrespect to your own history of loss when I assure you that Sam already knows pretty much everything there is to know about grief," Castiel says quietly. "I doubt there is anything more he could learn from that kind of suffering. I have never known a human being who suffered and survived as much as Sam has done."

Jody's silence is answer enough, and Sam feels a swell of pride at Castiel's loyalty and defense, misguided as it may be.

Sam hears a shuffling noise, like Jody is turning away, unable to return the angel's intense look. The sound of a spoon stirring in a pot can be heard, and when Jody finally speaks again her voice is slightly muffled, subdued.

"Dean was such a special guy," Jody says quietly. "He deserves for his brother to remember him."

Sam clears his throat, taking that moment to announce his presence.

"Hey guys," he greets Jody and Castiel as he steps into the kitchen.

The angel and the sheriff are standing in front of the stove, side by side. Jody is stirring a pot of something with meat and spices that smells delicious, and Castiel has been chopping vegetables for a salad. His jacket is off, his sleeves rolled up, and the look he casts in Sam's direction is both contrite and concerned, which is how Sam knows he's aware that Sam was listening.

But Jody has no idea, of course.

"It's Jody," she corrects Castiel, as if their previous conversation had nothing to do with Sam. "Both of you need to call me Jody. Sam may not remember, but I'm just about the oldest friend he has, besides you, of course."

"Where are the girls?" Sam asks.

"I sent them out to buy pie and ice cream," she answers. "I may be able to cook, but I can't bake for shit, and this dinner calls for dessert. And wine, but I've already got that." She reaches for an open bottle of something so dark red it's almost black, and lifts it in Sam's direction. "Can I pour you a glass?"

"No, I'm good," Sam says. "I was actually hoping I could use your computer, since I left my laptop back at the motel. I think I need to google Dean Winchester."

Jody and Castiel exchange a look, and Sam waits for Castiel to protest, but the angel takes a deep breath instead.

"Sam, we need to talk," he says, laying his knife down on the counter.

"Later," Sam says. "I need a few minutes. If that's okay," he glances at Jody, who nods her permission. After what he's just heard, he can't quite make himself look at Castiel, and he's definitely not ready to talk.

"Of course it is," she says. "You can use the desktop in my room. Last door at the end of the hall. The password is 'True Grit.'"

 _Of course it is._ Sam repeats Jody's words to himself as he smiles his thanks and leaves the room.

An hour later Jody comes in with a steaming bowl of chili, setting it down on the desk next to him. Sam looks up from the screen. He's been reading fan sites for the Carver Edlund novels, and he understands instinctively that it's all true, not just fiction. There's too much to absorb in one sitting, but he gets enough.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry," Sam starts as he registers the hour. "I totally lost track of time."

"It's okay," Jody smiles, setting a glass of ice water next to the chili. She puts her hand on his shoulder. "Take all the time you need."

Sam glances at her hand, then looks up at her face. "Your son and husband – I'm so sorry, Jody."

"It was a long time ago, Sam," Jody says softly. "Never stops hurting, but the pain's not quite so sharp now."

Sam nods and turns back to the screen. A shadowy photograph of a handsome stranger sits in the lower left-hand corner, next to a police sketch of the same man. Dean. Sam's found a couple of other photographs online, ostensibly taken by a fan who stalked the Winchesters at a crime scene a few years ago. Sam and the stranger are in both pictures, wearing fed suits and standing close as they talk to a uniformed officer.

"That's him, isn't it?" he asks Jody. She nods sympathetically.

"Ring any bells?" she asks. "Any memories?"

Sam shakes his head. "Nothing. He's not familiar to me at all. Not a bad-looking guy, though. I can see what the ladies saw in him."

"Oh honey, you have no idea," Jody sighs, and Sam glances at her sharply.

"You and Dean weren't – " Sam hesitates, awkward. "I mean, there wasn't anything – "

"Oh God, no," Jody startles, looking surprised. "He's a good ten years younger than I am. Not that I ever cared about that, but Dean was – well, he's a little too pretty for my taste, if you want to know the truth. I like a man who's a little more rugged. A little rougher around the edges."

"Huh," Sam looks back at the screen again. "I wish I could remember him. I mean, I feel like I _should_ remember him. He was obviously important in my life."

"Well, that's putting it mildly," Jody notes wryly.

"Tell me about him," Sam asks, gesturing to the other chair. Jody hesitates a minute, then nods, pulling up the chair and sitting down so that Sam has to turn his chair a little to face her, so that the computer screen is between them.

Jody glances at the photographs on the screen and leans forward in her chair, clasping her hands between her knees.

"Okay," she says, "but only if you eat your chili."

Sam nods, reaches for the bowl and spoon, and obediently takes a bite.

"Wow," he exclaims. "This is good."

Jody smiles. "Dean could cook," she notes. "Not that I ever ate anything he fixed, but you used to tell me about the food he could rustle up in that kitchen of yours, back at the bunker. Dean loved it there. It was the first home he'd had since he was four years old, and he loved having a room of his own, hot showers, laundry. You guys used to use those coin-operated laundromats, back in the days when you were on the road all the time. Once you moved into the bunker, Dean was really excited about having his own washing machine and dryer. He loved to iron."

Sam stares. "How was I even related to this guy?"

Jody ducks her head as another grin splits her face. "You complemented each other," she notes. "I used to think you had the perfect relationship. Unconventional, maybe, and not without its challenges. But overall, you two were really good together, personally as well as professionally. I used to feel a little jealous."

"So he died in the Final Battle," Sam murmurs. "And I was dying of grief and – and guilt, probably."

"Survivor guilt," Jody nods firmly, like she knows. "It's a bitch."

"I should've saved him," Sam says, and although he knows intellectually that's right, he feels hollow inside where his feelings for Dean should be. He just doesn't remember. "I mean, clearly that's what we did for each other, more than a few times."

Jody nods, leans back in her chair, and licks her lips. "Yeah," she agrees. "And I don't know the details, but I'm guessing what Dean did, he did to save you. And the world, of course. Kinda beside the point as long as _you're_ safe, but yeah. Big hero."

"And Castiel hasn't been with me all these years after all," Sam notes, running his hands through his hair. "Here I thought it was Cas. I mean, I knew I had somebody, I could feel it. Like another part of me but separate, you know? It felt so easy – I just assumed it was Cas."

Jody bites her lip and glances at the door. "You and Cas probably need to talk," she agrees. "And it's really none of my business, but I can say that, from what I know of the guy, he means well. For all the mistakes he's made, Dean trusted him. You trusted him. And I suspect that whatever he's done, he's done because he really cares about you."

"Yeah, I get that," Sam nods. He's a little disoriented and overwhelmed right now, but he doesn't want to burden Jody with that. It's not fair to her, for one thing. She's been through enough of her own shit. "Hey, thank you, Jody. I mean it. I can see what a good friend you were to me and Dean, and I appreciate that, even if I can't remember it."

"You saved my life, Sam," she reminds him. "More than once. I'll always owe you for that."

"Seems like you've more than repaid that debt," Sam answers. "And then some."

Jody shrugs, hauling herself to her feet with a hearty slap to her knee. "That's what friends do, especially in our line of work. Ain't nothin' special about it."

Except there is, and they both know it.

Jody offers to let them spend the night. The single bed in the guest room is more than adequate, since Cas doesn't sleep, and Sam is sorely tempted. There's something deeply reassuring about this woman and her "daughters," and Sam wants to hear more about them, wants to get their stories straight to fill in the blanks in his memory. He owes them that.

But he also wants to get back to the bunker, to research his condition and see if there's something he can do to reverse it. He wants to get a handle on what he's learned here so he can figure out what to do next.

He wants to get Cas alone so he can get some answers.

They compromise. They'll stay another day to help wrap up the case, then head home after another home-cooked meal.

In the car on the way back to the motel, Sam takes a deep breath. "I know why you did it," he says, keeping his eyes carefully on the road. He always drives. He's been driving this car since his Dad gave it to him all those years ago.

Except now he knows that's not true. Now he knows that's not what really happened. This car belonged to Dean. Dean was the usual driver.

"You do?" Cas says, clearly apprehensive.

"Dean and I were soulmates," Sam nods. "After he died, I was distraught with grief, out of my mind trying to get him back. Am I right?"

Cas nods, frowning. "It was not a good time," he agrees, voice low and soft.

"So you fixed me," Sam says. "Like you always do. You took care of me. I get that, Cas, I really do."

"You do?" Cas repeats.

Sam nods again. "Yeah, I do. I understand. I was no good that way. I couldn't do the work I needed to do. I wasn't able to function because I was lost to my obsession, killing myself over it, and you fixed that. You did what you had to do."

"I did?" Cas hesitates.

"Yeah, you did," Sam sighs. "It'll take me a while to adjust to the idea of myself as a brother, rather than a loner with an angel for a companion, but I'll get there."

"You aren't – angry with me?" Cas asks, and Sam shoots him a sharp glance.

"Oh, I'm angry," Sam admits. "You should have told me, right from the start. Not let me think you were always there, all the time I was growing up."

"Sam, if I could have been there, I would have," Cas says. "I wish I had been there. For both of you."

"I know," Sam nods sharply. "I believe you. I'm not happy about any of this, but I believe you did what you thought was for the best. I just wish I could remember any of it."

They're silent after this until they reach the motel, where Cas stands around awkwardly while Sam gets ready for bed. It's a routine Sam's always taken for granted, although he doesn't have specific memories of sharing a room with Cas. But he remembers someone holding him at night, comforting him when he woke up after a bad dream. He remembers shivering with fear because Dad's not there, he's gone again and Sam's alone and unprotected. But someone's there, whispering to him in the dark, petting his hair and pressing kisses against his forehead.

He always assumed it was Cas, but now he knows better.

"When did you stop hating me?" Sam asks as he pulls the covers back on the bed, then realizes he's too pumped on adrenaline to sleep yet. His mind is racing too fast.

"I never hated you, Sam." Cas is still wearing his trench coat. He never takes it off unless Sam tells him to. He wears it like a shield, or a suit of armor.

"You thought I was an 'abomination,'" Sam quotes from the _Supernatural_ books. He sits down on the edge of the bed. He's barefoot and clad only in the tee-shirt and the sweatpants he usually wears to bed, although if Cas wasn't here he'd sleep naked. He's always overheated.

He gets a flash of someone's cold toes on his calves, a deep voice muttering "fuckin' furnace, Sammy," a shivering body pressed against him under the covers, cold fingers shoved up under his shirt, making him jump.

"That was a long time ago, Sam," Cas intones quietly. "I was mistaken about you. Misled by Michael and the others who were trying to use you and Dean to achieve their ends."

"The apocalypse," Sam nods.

"You stopped it," Cas reminds him. "You jumped into the Cage with Lucifer and Michael. You were very brave."

Sam feels a pressure in his chest, feels tears smart at the backs of his eyes. "I don't remember," he says. "Any of it."

Cas nods slowly. "It's probably better that way," he growls softly. "You were in the Cage for a very long time. Lucifer and Michael were not happy with you."

"But you got me out," Sam says, blinking tears away as he gazes up at Cas. His angel. "You saved me."

Cas winces and looks away, and Sam feels a twinge of doubt.

"Cas? You got me out, right? I mean, I'm here now, so that must be what happened."

"Yes, I got you out," Cas agrees, but he's still looking away, still not quite looking Sam in the eye.

"What else, Cas?" Sam asks. "What else happened? I mean, I know that was years ago. The _Supernatural_ fan sites are full of conjecture and sightings since then. The fans seem to think Dean and I went on hunting after all that."

"Yes," Cas agrees.

Sam nods, fighting down the lump he feels rising in his throat. "Okay," he says. "Okay. I get that you don't want to tell me. I get that you think it's better if I just forget. I believe you when you say it was bad. I trust you, Cas. What else can I do?"

"I made mistakes, Sam," Cas says darkly. "I did things I regret deeply now. Terrible things."

Sam nods again, waving a hand dismissively. "You're not the only one, according to what I've read. I just need to know."

Castiel looks uncomfortable for a moment before he begins. "When I got you out of the Cage, your soul got left behind."

Sam listens as Cas tells him about Crowley and Grandpa Samuel, about Sam working with the Campbells and saving Dean from the djinn. Cas fills in the gaps where he can, since he wasn't there for much of that, but by the time they summoned him, Dean and Sam were working together again. Cas tells him how Dean got Sam's soul back, and Sam gasps. It doesn't sound real.

Cas is sketchy and winces a lot when he talks about Crowley, so Sam lets it go. Something happened, and Cas feels terrible about it, and that's enough. Apparently he atoned for whatever it was by saving Sam when he was dying after his psychic wall crashed down, but that part Sam believes without question.

Sam hears about the Leviathans and Purgatory and the year he and Dean spent apart. Cas doesn't know much about that, since he was in Purgatory with Dean, but he suspects Sam wasn't happy. Sam suspects he's right about that.

When Cas tells Sam about the Trials and Sam becoming ill beyond Cas's ability to heal him, Sam listens closely. He asks questions and gets Cas to admit that he was duped by Metatron and subsequently lost his grace so that Metatron could close Heaven. Without Cas to help, Dean turned to another angel to help Sam heal, and the consequences of that choice led to disaster and an estrangement between the brothers that led to more disaster.

"Winchesters apart is never a good thing," Castiel intones as if he's revealing a great truth, and Sam nods. He's getting the picture.

When Cas explains how the Mark of Cain turned Dean into a demon, Sam shivers. He doesn't have to ask whether Cas helped him fix Dean, although Cas is a little hesitant to explain how he got his grace back. By the time Cas explains how the Mark led the Winchesters to release the Darkness, over two hours have passed, and now they're back in familiar territory. Sam knows the rest of the story, although the parts about his brother being such a central figure are new.

"You know what I don't get?" Sam stops pacing the floor and turns to face Castiel, one hand raised to gesture at the angel, the other hand on his hip. "You didn't ask. Did you? When I was sick and dying before you did this to me. You didn't ask me if it was what I wanted, before you just did it."

Castiel's face shifts into a look of such anguish and sorrow, Sam almost forgives him.

"I couldn't lose you, Sam," he pleads, voice plaintive and wrecked with emotion like Sam's never seen him before. "I couldn't let you die. Billie promised she'd take you somewhere I could never go, where you'd stay permanently, with no way to get you back, and I – I couldn't let that happen. Please believe me, Sam. I did what I did because --

Castiel stops himself, a look of wonder and surprise replacing the pained expression, making him seem almost human.

"I love you too, Cas." Sam waves his hand dismissively. "That's not the point. The point is, you didn't ask first. You should have had my permission before you did what you did."

"Gabriel was right," Castiel murmurs, obviously lost in his own discovery. "I did it out of my own selfish need to keep you with me. That was wrong."

"No, Cas," Sam sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly. "People do stupid things for love."

"I am not people, Sam," Castiel growls, sounding like an angel again. "I am not motivated by human emotions."

"Apparently you are, in this case." Sam shakes his head. "Believe me, I get it. From what I've read in those novels, I've done a few stupid things myself. Demon deals. Killing people, not just monsters. I've killed _people,_ Cas. I almost killed someone I loved. More than once. Believe me, I get it."

"You – You think I'm like you," Castiel says. "But I cannot be like you, Sam. I am an angel. Dean told me to make sure you didn't do anything stupid, yet I believe it is I who have made the terrible mistake he warned against."

Castiel seems so lost and shattered by his admission that Sam can't help feeling sorry for him. His anger dissipates, and he takes a step forward, pulling the angel in for a hug.

"It's okay, Cas," Sam soothes as the angel sags awkwardly into his embrace. "You were doing what you thought was best. You thought you were helping."

For a moment they stand holding each other, Sam stooping a little so that Cas can lay his chin on Sam's shoulder. Their height difference makes it impossible to press flush against each other, but it's comforting. Comfortable.

Sam has a sense memory of wrapping his arms around someone's waist, pressing his face against a leather-and-plaid-clad chest. That familiar deep voice, younger and lighter, murmuring, "It's okay, Sammy. You're okay."

"Hey – uh – Cas?" Sam pulls back. "Would you – do you mind lying down with me for a little while? Just till I fall asleep?"

Cas's piercing blue eyes narrow as a frown furrows his brow, and his lips part as he scrutinizes Sam's face, trying to read his expression.

"Of course not, Sam," he answers as Sam releases him. His arms fall back to his sides, and he waits. Sam thinks he'd probably stand there all night if Sam told him to.

"Okay, here," Sam reaches for Cas's coat. "You need to take that off, okay? And your shoes. Also, it'd probably be more comfortable for both of us if you took your belt off. Don't you have any sleepwear? No, probably not. Okay, so just strip down to your tee-shirt and boxers. How's that?"

It's like undressing a child, Sam thinks. Cas removes each article of clothing slowly and methodically and lays them on the other bed, as if it's something he's not accustomed to doing.

When Cas is wearing nothing but his tee-shirt, boxer shorts and socks, Sam nods. He climbs into the bed and shifts over, lifting the edge of the blanket in invitation. Cas climbs into the bed next to him, and Sam turns his back to the angel, reaching up to switch off the light.

"Goodnight, Cas," Sam murmurs, letting himself be comforted by the weight of the other man's presence in the bed.

It's not quite right. Cas doesn't slap his ass and press up against him, doesn't breathe into the back of his neck or reach around and tweak his nipple. Cas doesn't wiggle and squirm next to him until Sam's forced to turn over and pin the smaller man to the bed, grab his wrists and cross his chest with them, entwining his legs with Sam's. Cas doesn't struggle to free himself, sputtering indignantly for a minute before giving in, letting Sam spoon his body as he relaxes and settles. Most of all, Cas doesn't fall asleep in Sam's arms, warm and content and loved, with Sam's unavoidable hard-on pressed against his ass.

Sam takes a long, deep breath, lets it out slow.

"Are you all right, Sam?" Cas asks from his side of the bed.

Sam is silent for a moment, then he shifts onto his back and stares up at the dark ceiling, which is probably dirty and cracked and stained with God-knows-what. Sam's glad he doesn't.

"You took my memories, and I should be angry about that, and I am," Sam says finally. "But the thing is, I have all these feelings, all these sense memories. I always figured they were of you. I thought all those feelings were for you."

Sam turns his head, gazes at Castiel's dark profile. The angel's eyes glitter in the dim light of a streetlight through the curtains as he turns his head to face Sam.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Cas says, "It must be very confusing."

"You let me assume that you were the constant presence in my life, when all along it was my brother," Sam concedes. "That'll take a little getting used to."

"It must be disappointing," Cas suggests. "You loved him very much."

A lump rises in Sam's throat again, and he reaches for Cas's hand, tangles their fingers together. Cas's hand is soft and smooth, not rough and calloused as Sam expected. Not the hand of someone used to digging graves or handling a gun. Not the hand of a hunter.

"I thought it was you," Sam whispers. "I thought I loved _you_ like that."

Castiel looks down at their clasped hands, squeezes tentatively. "Perhaps I have enough love for both of us," he murmurs. "Apparently, my feelings for you are profound. More than I had allowed myself to admit."

Sam pulls Cas's hand up and presses his lips to the back of it. Cas's skin is smooth and soft there, too. Doesn't smell like gun oil or gasoline or burger grease. He presses it against his cheek anyway.

"You're not who I thought you were," Sam murmurs, and he feels a tear leak out of the corner of his eye and roll down his cheek. "And I'm all hollowed out, all broken and empty inside. How can you love a ghost, Castiel?"

"You're still you, Sam," Cas untangles their fingers so he can brush the tear away. He props himself up on one elbow to look down into Sam's face, smoothing Sam's hair with gentle fingers. Sam blinks up at him, aware that Cas can see every feature of Sam's face in the dark, although Cas's face is in shadow. "You're tough and brave and strong and smart and loyal to a fault. You still love me, even knowing what I've done. You've demonstrated true courage in your choice to go on in the face of despair and hopelessness. You never give up, never surrender."

Sam smiles as his mind catches the _Galaxy Quest_ reference he's heard too many times before, probably from his brother, he realizes now. Castiel slides his thumb along Sam's cheek, along the groove of his dimple, and Sam thinks he's smiling, too, although maybe for a different reason.

"I'm not sure who that guy was, Cas, but he wasn't me," Sam shakes his head a little. "I'm somebody else now. I'm made up of gaps and absences and holes. Even my feelings are weak and watered down. I feel like I'm just going through the motions, you know? Like there's nothing there where my soul should be."

"Sam, I can assure you, your soul is intact and still inside you," Castiel growls, maybe a tad more emphatic than he should be, since Sam was only speaking figuratively. Of course he's still got his soul.

"My heart, then," Sam tries again. "My heart's missing. And I don't mean literally. Hey, you know what? Never mind."

"Sam, may I – " Castiel hesitates, then blurts out, "may I kiss you?"

Castiel's warm fingers are still on Sam's cheek, thumb stroking along the groove of his dimple, and it's nice. Comforting.

"Okay," Sam agrees. _I'll try anything once,_ the deep voice in his head says, and Sam tries not to think what that might mean as Castiel's face draws closer. Just before the angel's lips touch his, Sam closes his eyes, since there's nothing to see anyway.

Castiel's mouth is warm and dry. He kisses gently, carefully, then pulls back before Sam can respond.

Sam blinks up at the angel as he hovers expectantly.

"We don't do this, do we?" Sam asks, although he can almost feel calloused hands in his hair, holding him still as plush lips plunder his mouth. He can almost feel the desperate grinding of a hard body against his.

Castiel shakes his head. "No. But I understand that this is how humans show affection," he says. "I remember from my time as a human how pleasurable it can be to touch and kiss another human. I am aware that humans express their love for each other this way."

Sam clears his throat and shifts awkwardly. "Sometimes sex is just sex, Cas," he says. "It doesn't always have to mean something."

But the words feel like echoes of that other voice in Sam's head, spoken in that teasing tone meant to deflect the deeper meaning behind them. They're true, but not in this case. Not for Sam and his angel.

Nor for Sam and his brother.

"I believe that for you and me, sex would have meaning," Cas says, as if he's read Sam's mind. "I believe it would fundamentally alter our relationship."

"Maybe we should find out," Sam suggests, surprising himself. He can't recall ever considering Castiel as a sexual partner, and it occurs to him that if he pursues this he might be using the angel to trigger more sense memories of his brother.

Which feels wrong on so many levels it shocks him.

Thankfully, Castiel seems to understand. "I am fairly certain that would not be a good idea, Sam," he says quietly. "Any sexual attraction you are feeling for me is undoubtedly misplaced."

"My brother and I..." Sam can't finish the question, but Cas nods his understanding anyway.

"You and Dean were very close," Cas agrees. "In every way."

Sam closes his eyes and turns away, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he senses the truth of Cas's words, expecting shame and sorrow to follow. He's fucked up in more ways than he could have imagined, and adding incest to the list should fill him with despair.

When it doesn't, when it simply fills him with relief because now he understands those faint, awkward sense-memories that have been haunting his dreams, when now he gets why those memories don't jibe with the way he feels about Cas, all the tension in Sam's body seeps away. He feels tired, exhausted, but in a good way. It's like a piece of a puzzle in his psyche has snapped into place, and now Sam can relax.

"I think I can sleep now," he murmurs, reaching almost unconsciously for Cas's hand, tugging him close.

It should be pathetic, how much he needs Cas after what he's just learned, but there it is. Castiel may not be the life partner Sam thought, he may not be the constant companion from childhood that Sam assumed, but he's all Sam has now. He loves Sam, he's here now, and Sam needs him.

Sam turns onto his side, curling into a fetal position, pulling Castiel's hand with him so that the angel curls up behind him, spooning him. Sam clutches Castiel's arm against his chest, holding their clasped hands over his heart as sleep pulls him under.

** // **

He dreams he's in the bunker. It's dark outside, and there are only dim emergency-level lights on in the library. He's prowling the halls because he can't sleep. _This is a memory,_ he realizes. A memory of my real life. It's the night before the Final Battle, and he's not alone.

Chuck sits in the armchair against the back wall, sipping whiskey from a tumbler. Neat, with no ice, which is why Sam didn't hear him at first. He nods as Sam pulls up a chair, accepts a second glass of the dark amber liquid.

"You know, I used to daydream about what I would say to you, if we ever met," Sam says. "I spent hours imagining our conversations."

"I know, Sam," Chuck smiles wearily. "I heard you."

"You did? I mean, of course you did," Sam grins broadly, feeling himself blush. "I had so many things to ask you about."

Chuck nods. "You know, most kids ask me for things," he observes. "A pony, or a new bicycle. Like I'm Santa Claus. Not Sam Winchester, though. Sam wanted to know if there was life on other planets. How did the ancient Romans really sound when they spoke Latin. Did Shakespeare have a sister."

"I was a curious kid," Sam shrugs.

"But now Sam has a request," Chuck notes. "Now you're asking for something."

Sam swallows, looks down at his drink. "Yeah," he breathes.

"But first, let me ask _you_ something," Chuck peers at him keenly. "What if I told you the only way to stop Amara is for you to take on the Mark of Cain?"

Sam looks up, sucking in a sharp gasp. "Okay," he says with only a moment's hesitation. "I'll do it. But you have to promise you'll lock me up after I put Amara away. You have to promise you'll save Dean, put me somewhere I can't hurt him."

Chuck's gaze softens, and he nods. "I can do that," he assures Sam. "But I'm not telling you to take on the Mark. Only suggesting that it might come to that, and if it does, I need you to be ready."

Sam nods. "Okay," he agrees. "Just don't tell Dean. Not if it isn't absolutely necessary. He doesn't need to know ahead of time, if it comes to that. It'll only make him mad."

Chuck smiles and looks down at his glass. "You're not wrong," he agrees. "Of course, there's another possibility that you should probably prepare for."

"Dean," Sam says softly, and Chuck nods. "Amara wants Dean."

Chuck runs a finger along the edge of the glass thoughtfully. "Dean might be able to talk her out of destroying everything, if he agrees to go with her."

"But what does that mean, if he goes with her?" Sam pleads. "Where would they go? What would happen to him?"

Chuck takes a deep breath and sinks back in his armchair. His big, expressive eyes seem to grow larger. "He would cease to exist," Chuck sighs. "He would become part of her. Forever. There would essentially be no more Dean."

Sam feels his chest tighten. "If that happens, I want to be there," he says, voice choked and broken. "I want to be there with him. Please. Can you promise me that, Chuck? Can you promise I'll be there with him, at the end? So he doesn't have to do it alone? He hates to be alone."

Chuck's shoulders rise and fall as he sighs, shaking his head a little.

Panic rises in Sam's chest; it's suddenly extremely urgent for Chuck to agree to this, to allow Sam to be with his brother at the moment when his life ends. Just as Dean was there for Sam when Sam threw himself into the Cage with Lucifer and Michael, so Sam should be there for Dean if their positions are reversed.

"Chuck, please," Sam tries again. "Please promise you'll let me be there with him, if it comes to that."

"If it comes to that," Chuck agrees finally, a little snappishly and more than somewhat doubtful, it seems to Sam, as if it seems impossible to him that such a thing could come about.

But of course that's exactly what goes down, as it turns out.

In that strange way of dreams, Sam's suddenly standing in the cemetery on the day everything is ending, saying goodbye to Dean for the last time as he goes off to try to blow Amara to smithereens to save the world. When Dean disappears, Chuck and Crowley and Rowena disappear almost immediately afterwards, leaving Sam and Castiel alone.

"No," Sam gasps, staring around wildly. "No! Chuck, you promised! You promised, Chuck!" He shouts into the emptiness and stillness, panic rising in his chest as rage and desperation clouds his vision. He'll scream himself hoarse if he has to.

But suddenly the scene changes. He's in a garden, and there's Dean and Amara, standing close together facing each other, speaking in low voices, eyes locked. Amara lifts her hand as if to take Dean's hand, and then it happens. The light is blinding, the flash going on and on before any sound reaches Sam's ears, and he has only a momentary glimpse of Dean and Amara consumed by the explosion before the force of the blast hits Sam and he blacks out.

He wakes up alone in his motel bed, heart pounding, sweat making the sheet cling to his legs and torso. He lies still for some time, going over the details of the dream, grasping at the edges as it fades from his memory.

Now he knows. Now he knows what really happened.


	2. Chapter 2

"I was there," he tells Cas later the next day. They're in the car, on their way to pick up Jody and Claire. "I saw it happen. I was there and I couldn't stop it."

They found the lead they needed first thing this morning. The werewolf's hiding out in a cabin on Indian Ridge, about an hour north of Sioux Falls. Jody's already talked to the local authorities, who confirmed that the cabin has been abandoned for some time. It's a perfect hide-out for a lone werewolf.

Cas squints into the early-morning light of an overcast day. "You remember?" he asks.

Sam shakes his head. "I had a dream." He tells Cas about his conversation with Chuck, about Chuck's promise, about what happened after everyone except Sam and Cas disappeared.

Cas frowns. "God must have rescued you, just before the blast could kill you," he says. "We were in the cemetery after the others disappeared, and you started shouting for God to make good on his promise. Then you disappeared and the sun came out, bright and whole again. You reappeared just a moment or two later, unconscious."

Sam nods. "How long was I out?"

"Not long," Cas says. "I healed you and you regained consciousness before we got back to the bunker."

"Chuck let me watch my brother die," Sam shakes his head. "But he wouldn't let me try to stop it. How fucked up is that? So he was just gonna let me live with the guilt?"

"Technically, he gave you what you asked for," Cas reminds him. "He let you be there when Dean sacrificed himself."

"Dean didn't even know I was there," Sam huffs out a breath. "I couldn't even give him that. He never knew he wasn't dying alone. I was there, but he never knew."

Cas tilts his head, quizzical. "You never told me that. I can see why your guilt and despair consumed you so completely."

Sam falls silent, letting the dream replay in his head as he struggles to recall the feelings Cas describes. He can remember experiencing grief and despair in the dream, and he understands intellectually that he should feel immense guilt over Dean's death. But he just doesn't. It's like his brother's death happened to someone else. It's like it happened to that other Sam, the one in his dream. The real Sam just doesn't remember Dean well enough to grieve his death.

If Cas died, Sam would be intensely sad. He can imagine that feeling, almost gets choked up just thinking about it.

He should feel at least that intensely about losing his brother.

Not for the first time, it occurs to Sam that he should be angry with Cas. Castiel did this thing to him. Changed him fundamentally. And even if it was the right thing to do, even if it saved Sam's life, it's permanently altered Sam's perception of himself and his relation to the person he most trusts.

Plus, he's got a nagging idea that his old self, the one who had a brother he loved more than his own life, wouldn't have wanted this. Not that Sam particularly cares what his old self wanted. He was obviously at least as fucked up as Sam. Probably worse. Drinking demon blood, lying about it to his brother...Who _was_ that guy?

For now, they've got a job to do. Even his old self would agree. He would know how to stuff all the emotional baggage down deep while he got the work done.

The job is almost too easy, and Sam finds himself functioning on autopilot. The werewolf isn't even ready for them, barely puts up a fight before Sam's silver bullet lodges itself in his heart. It's like it was waiting for them. Like it wanted to die. After they'd killed its only companion the day before, it must have given up the fight, decided life wasn't worth living.

When they're done salting and burning the body, Cas, Sam, Jody and Claire head back to Jody's house to shower and eat.

Alex spent the day working her job as a tutor for troubled teens trying to finish high school. It's a program Jody started at the sheriff's department, and it's turned out to be a perfect job for Alex.

"I get to help kids like me and Claire, and it keeps my mind off my own crap," Alex tells Sam over steaming bowls of clam chowder and crusty home-baked bread.

Alex has only recently finished high school herself, so the kids trust her. She can't tell them everything about what happened to her –– growing up in a family of vampires might just be a little unrelatable to these kids –– but they seem to understand that Alex's history parallels their own experiences of addiction and abuse, so they respect her.

"I don't think I'm cut out for hunting," she explains. "That's Claire's thing."

"Alex wants to be a teacher," Jody brags. "Or a counselor. You should see her with these kids, Sam. She's a natural."

Alex flushes under the praise, picks at her bread as she glances up at Sam. "I understand them," she says simply. "I get a lot of what they've been through."

"Too bad you have to go back to school if you want to do that stuff," Claire smirks. "At least with hunting, it's all about learning on the job."

"Sam went to college," Alex protests. "I'll bet it helped make him a better hunter."

Claire snorts. "Yeah, well, Dean didn't even finish high school, and he was the best damn hunter in the country. Right, Sam?"

Sam starts to agree, but flashes back to his dream last night. Grief stabs him like a knife in his gut. He can't consciously remember Dean, but there are moments when he's sure his subconscious remembers everything.

Jody's hand on his arm jerks him back into the present moment. The girls are staring at him from across the table, and Cas is sitting next to him, barely nibbling his food but just being there, as he always is, for Sam.

Because Dean is gone.

"Everything okay, Sam?" Jody asks, rubbing his arm gently.

"Yeah." Sam takes a deep breath, lets it out in a huff. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a long day, that's all." He glances at Cas. "We should go."

Jody nods. "I wish I could talk you into staying the night, starting out fresh in the morning," she offers kindly.

"Thanks, but we need to get back," Sam says. "I've got research to do."

As they say their goodbyes, Jody convinces Sam to let Cas drive so he can rest, then Sam hugs all three women a little awkwardly and promises to answer his phones if they ever need him.

"Take it easy, Sam," Jody admonishes, holding his hand a moment too long.

Sam nods, barely able to meet her eyes. "I will," he lies.

In the car, Sam lets Cas in on his thinking.

"Do you think it's possible that my subconscious still has all my memories?" he asks.

"Perhaps," Cas muses thoughtfully.

"Because it sure felt like I could remember everything, in that dream," Sam says. "Like I was my old self, the one who remembers growing up with a brother. Maybe if I can recover my memories in a dream, there's a way to get them back in my waking life, too."

"Sam..." Cas stares at the road as he drives, but his face is strained with concern. "I don't know if it's possible to recover your memories. What I did isn't reversible.. It's similar to the process we used to wipe your memories of Heaven when you were resurrected."

Sam chews his bottom lip, attempting to recall the feelings in the dream. He remembers his fear of losing Dean, how that seemed more important than stopping Amara, more important than saving the world. Dean's death was unthinkable, unimaginable, although Sam knows from the _Supernatural_ books that he's lost (and found) Dean countless times in their long, weird lives. Yet this knowledge only made dream-Sam more terrified. Nothing else mattered, not really.

No wonder Sam lost his mind after Dean died. No wonder Cas did what he did to fix him.

"Do you think Chuck is still in the wind?" Sam asks. He realizes it's been a while since he last spoke by the way Cas glances sharply at him. He can read Cas like a book, and that knowledge only makes him wonder again how his other self could have ever loved anyone more. "Like Lucifer? Do you think after Amara was destroyed, Chuck got his power back?"

"Perhaps," Cas frowns. "I believe that we would know if God had died."

"So, what? You think he's just gone into hiding again?"

"It is possible that losing his sister was extremely traumatic for him," Cas suggests. "He may be in mourning for some time." 

Sam falls silent again, brooding on the idea of God being capable of grief for his sibling, when Sam can't even remember his, except in dreams.

**//**

When they reach the bunker Sam gets to work, researching memory loss and recovery until Cas makes him stop, demands he eat something and sleep before getting back at it.

Sam obeys out of habit. Somebody has been taking care of him all his life, but even now that he knows it hasn't been Cas, he still responds habitually. Habits and sense memories are all he has now, all he can really trust and rely on.

He doesn't sleep much, and he doesn't dream when he does, but when he wakes suddenly from dozing off over his work he hears that deep, snarky voice in his head. He feels the ghost of strong hands on his shoulders, as if someone were standing behind him, kneading the tension out of his tired muscles.

He wonders how many times over the past year he's felt those hands on him and assumed they were Cas's.

After a couple of days of research it becomes clear that Cas is right. If there is a cure for this thing, it's above Cas's pay grade.

"What about Gabriel?" Sam asks. "Archangels can restore memories and alter reality. Maybe he could change me back."

As soon as he says it, Sam can tell Castiel has already given this very idea some thought. It probably occurred to him when Sam asked about Chuck. 

"I have attempted to summon Gabriel," Castiel admits. "So far, he has not answered. I am afraid he finds our predicament somewhat comical."

"Because I can't remember a time before I had you in my life," Sam suggests. "He thinks that's funny."

"Because I have replaced your brother in your affections," Castiel counters. "To Gabriel, that idea is hilarious."

Sam shakes his head, closing his laptop as he accepts the cup of tea Castiel hands him.

"Doesn't it bother you, knowing my feelings for you aren't real?" Sam asks. "I mean, some of them are, obviously. But having you with me all my life, that utter familiarity I feel with you, that sense I have all the time that I know you better than I know myself...Those are feelings that I had about my brother. I've just transferred them to you because he's gone."

Castiel smiles sadly, and Sam almost gets up to hug him because he knows that look. It's the look of someone who's learned to accept being second-best, who always expected to be picked last in gym class and has long ago learned to live with it. It's the look of an actor who's resigned to his place as understudy to the leading man.

"I am grateful for your love and devotion, Sam, even if it is misplaced," Castiel says quietly. "I could never replace your brother, but having even a fraction of the trust you used to put in him has made my existence more meaningful than you can imagine. I used to think I was useless to you and Dean, but now I feel as if I have a purpose, even if it means playing second-fiddle to a ghost."

Sam smiles fondly. "You do realize how pathetic that sounds," he says. "And Dean is not a ghost. I would know it if that were the case, trust me."

"I do," Cas says. "Implicitly. Now please, Sam. Get some rest."

Sam sighs wearily and rises to his feet. "You're right," he says as he takes his tea and starts down the hall to his room. "I should probably give it a rest. The work's not going anywhere." _It'll still be here in the morning, Sammy._

**//**

That night, lying alone in his room, Sam dreams. He runs through a forest, following a path that's only barely visible in the underbrush. He knows he's following somebody. He catches a glimpse of a broad back, close-cropped brown hair with gold hints that catch the sunlight, bow-legged stride strong and sure. The guy carries a gun, so Sam guesses he's another hunter, and Sam's gaining on him, getting closer.

Then the guy stops and turns back, staring straight at Sam, and Sam stops too, not even a little out of breath.

It's the guy from the pictures. Dean.

"Sammy?" Dream-Dean frowns. "What happened to you?"

Sam's suddenly filled with shame that feels so deep it's almost primordial. He wakes with a shock, shaking and sweating in the dark, overwhelmed by a feeling of failure. He's done something wrong. He's done a terrible thing and let his brother down.

Again.

"Sam?" Castiel's low rumble yanks him further awake, further away from the dream. Sam looks up helplessly as Castiel moves into the dim light from the doorway. Sam hears the vague sound of wings fluttering, and he knows Cas has just arrived; he hasn't been standing watch over him as he does sometimes while Sam sleeps.

"I'm okay," Sam gasps, sitting up in the bed, panting softly, sheets tangled around his legs. He runs a hand through his hair. "Just a dream. It was just a dream."

"You saw him, didn't you?" Castiel asks, and Sam looks up, startled.

Then he nods. This is Cas, after all. He doesn't need to lie to Cas.

"Yeah," Sam admits, almost relieved. "Yeah, I saw him. He was – I think he's mad at me."

"Did he say anything?"

Sam frowns, shakes his head. "Not really," he says. "He asked what happened to me."

Castiel blinks and looks away for a moment and Sam swings his legs over the side of the bed, leaning forward.

"Wait – do you – it was just a dream, Cas," Sam hesitates. "You don't think it was a vision, do you? You think maybe he's still alive somewhere?"

Sam hears the hopeful tone in his own voice and knows he's right. Castiel can't help hoping Dean's alive either.

"You have been prone to visions in the past, Sam," Castiel reminds him. "It's always a possibility."

"But Dean died, didn't he?" Sam protests. "He stopped the Darkness. She's gone. He must have succeeded."

"That was our assumption," Castiel agrees. "But no one knows for sure. You are the only living person to witness the explosion. And he is – He is not in the Empty. According to Billie."

"Wait, you talked to Billie?" Sam stares. "When was this?"

"No, Sam," Castiel sighs, and Sam can almost see the tired look in his face in the dim hall light. He can almost feel him sagging. " _You_ talked to her. Before I fixed you. You tried to – you attempted to talk to Billie by taking yourself to the edge of death..."

"I tried to kill myself," Sam repeats. "Just to talk to Billie."

"I believe your intention was to make a deal with her," Castiel growls, sounding almost angry now. "You were trying to trade yourself for Dean. When I brought you back, the first thing you said to me was, 'He's not there.'"

Sam takes that in for a moment, his mind racing. "But if Dean isn't in the Empty –– and you say he's not in Heaven or Hell or Purgatory –– where is he?"

Castiel shifts his feet, tilts his head with a half-shrug that's almost human. "There is another possibility," he concedes, and Sam gasps.

"Oh my God, I can't believe I didn't think of it before," Sam gets to his feet, running his hands through his hair as he paces in front of the angel. "He's with her, isn't he? She took him. He gave her what she wanted. She saved the world for him, in exchange for his life, his soul, whatever. She's got him."

"It would explain why we can't find him," Castiel agrees.

"But why didn't you say so? Why haven't we been trying to find her, all this time?" Sam flips on the light by the bed, pushes past Castiel to the table, slides into a seat and fires up his laptop.

"She _is_ God's sister," Castiel reminds Sam. "If Amara does not wish to be found, it may take more than even your considerable hunting and research skills to find her. She is not simply capable of inter-dimensional time-travel, after all. She exists outside time and space. She is timeless and extra-spatial, capable of existing in multiple dimensions or only one at any given time."

Sam sits back, considering this as he chews on the inside of his cheek. "Just humor me, Cas," he says finally. "Give me a chance to try. Help me."

So Cas agrees to help Sam search for Amara, although he clearly believes they won't find her.

In fact, the longer they look, the more Sam is convinced they already did this, after Dean first disappeared. Cas knows it's already a dead-end but he helps Sam anyway because he feels obligated to do so as atonement for his deceit. He already knows they won't find Amara. And after following empty leads that go nowhere, Sam's forced to agree. If Amara was still alive and wandering the universe, and if Dean was with her, they might never know. They might as well believe Dean destroyed her, and in the process was consumed by her, body and soul, so that he no longer exists in their dimension. He might as well be dead after all.

After a couple of months, they're back where they started.

**//**

On the day Sam faces the fact that he may never recover his memories or find his brother again, he discovers Dean's old room. He's wandering the halls of the bunker one night, unable to sleep, and it occurs to him that he can't remember ever opening any door in this particular hallway. He's standing in front of Room 11 when that thought hits him, so he opens the door and turns on the light.

The room is meticulously neat and tidy, although Sam can see a fine layer of dust on the desk and bedside tables. There are weapons mounted on the walls and a faded photograph of a woman with a sandy-haired little boy leaning against the bedside lamp.

It's Dean's room. Sam knows that without understanding where the knowledge came from, but that's happening more often now. He's always had pretty good instincts, he thinks, and he's learning to trust them when wild ideas suddenly pop into his head. Not that this being Dean's room is such a wild idea, but Sam's sudden urge to lie down on the bed and sleep is kind of out there.

Nevertheless, Sam shuts the door and kicks off his boots before crossing the room to sit down on the bed. The mattress gives under his weight like it knows him, and Sam hears the voice in his head crow delightedly, _It's memory foam, Sammy! It remembers me!_

The irony is not lost on Sam as he lies down on his back, crossing his hands on his chest, and closes his eyes as he lets the bed enfold him. Even the bed remembers his brother better than Sam does.

He's fast asleep and dreaming almost immediately. He's in the library, researching, and Dean's there. Dean's there! He's pacing in front of the table where Sam is seated, gesturing forcefully because he's pissed off about something, as usual. He's always pissed off lately, dream-Sam thinks. He gets this way when he feels out of control, and what's happening right now makes Dean positively livid with frustration.

"You're not listening to me, Sammy!" Dean's voice hits him like a sledgehammer to the gut, clear and deep and resonant like it never is in Sam's head. Like he's really here.

"I don't – " Sam gasps, struggling with an overwhelming sense of relief because Dean's here! He's really here! "I don't understand."

"That's because you're not listening, dumb-ass," Dean stops pacing, stamps his foot and punches the air with two clenched fists.

"What?" Sam asks, shaking his head as if to clear it. "What is it I'm not understanding here, Dean? Tell me!"

Dean freezes then, his eyes widening as he stares at Sam. His mouth drops open in an almost perfect "o" but no sound comes out.

Until it does.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice has changed; it's thinner, wispier, with a kind of choked sound at the edges to match the sudden film over his eyes. "Sammy? Is that really you?"

"Yeah, Dean, it's really me," Sam frowns. "Why shouldn't it be? You're in _my_ dream, man. I'm making you up, not the other way around."

Dean shakes his head a little. "No," he says. "No, Sam. I've been trying to get through to you – God, you have no idea how long I've been trying to get through to you, but all you ever do is sit there staring at that book like – like you can't even hear me."

Sam stares. "I hear you all the time, man," Sam says. "You're in my head when I'm awake. I just never see you like this. I mean, I never see you at all. When I'm awake I can't even remember what you look like."

"What's happening here?" Dean asks. "I've been trying to get through to you for months, Sam. You have to believe me, man. I was starting to think you'd never hear me."

"Where are you, Dean?" Sam asks. "If you're not in my head, where are you?"

Dean starts to answer, then frowns and looks away, obviously confused by the question. "I'm right here," he insists, gazing around the room. "We're in the bunker. It's a few months after I..."

"After you what? Killed the Darkness? Then what happened, Dean? What's the last thing you remember?" Sam can't help asking. He thinks he knows the answer, but he's hoping Dean can remember, even if this is all just Sam's dream. Even if Sam's just making up an excuse to keep Dean here with him, just a little longer.

"Yeah, that's right," Dean nods. "We were in the garden, and I started to detonate the bomb...Then I saw you. You were there." Dean glares at Sam and slams his hands down flat on the table, making Sam jump. "What the hell were you doing, huh? Trying to get yourself killed?"

"You saw me?" Dream-Sam doesn't remember it that way, so this piece of news surprises him. "I don't remember that. I saw you...you and Amara...Then there was a flash, but Chuck must've beamed me out somehow. I figured you got the job done. I figured you were dead."

It hurts, just saying the words. In this dream, Sam remembers exactly how much he loves Dean, how much it hurts to lose him, and it hurts like hell, makes him want to wake up.

Except he can't leave Dean. Even this dream-version of his brother is better than nothing, better than Sam's waking life where he can't remember his brother at all.

"So I did it? The world's okay? You're okay?" Dean scrubs a hand over his face, and Sam can see he's fighting back tears.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam smiles. "We're all fine. You did it, Dean. You saved us."

Dean nods, not taking his eyes off Sam's face as he rubs the back of his neck, shifts his weight and puts his other hand on his hip. He's wearing that old grey henley Sam always loved so much on him because when he wears it he's at his most relaxed, his most at home. It hugs his chest and shoulders and exposes his powerful forearms, makes him seem solid and real and deeply familiar. Dean's the only person who can make Sam feel small and safe at the same time, and Sam can't believe he's forgotten that, in his waking life. How could he ever forget how it feels to be a beloved little brother? Who is he if he's forgotten that?

"Well, I think that calls for a beer, don't you?" Dean smirks, and before Sam can stop him he's off, turning away and heading toward the kitchen.

"Wait! No! Wait a minute, Dean!"

Panic floods Sam's chest and he rises to his feet as Dean disappears around the corner. Just like that, Sam's awake.

He's on his belly on Dean's bed, clutching the pillow, his fingers entwined in some kind of string. As he turns on his side and draws his hand up to inspect the object he took hold of in his sleep, Sam grasps at the dream, desperate to recall the feeling of being in same room with his brother. It's incredible, that feeling. Euphoric and devastatingly familiar at the same time, and Sam needs it like a drug.

The object in his hand is a brass talisman on a leather string, and Sam knows immediately that it's the amulet he gave Dean almost thirty years ago. Dean wore it until he went to Hell. Sam held onto it for him until he got back, then Dean wore it again until he gave it to Castiel. But Dean threw it away because it didn't work.

Sam knows these things because he read about them online; it's all there in the _Supernatural_ novels. He imagines it was painful for him when Dean threw the amulet away. He imagines it felt like Dean was throwing out a piece of his heart. He doesn't remember any of it, but he gets why so much fan fiction has featured this little thing. What he doesn't understand is, what's it doing here? How did it get from that wastebasket in Bumfuck, U.S.A. to Dean's pillow?

Sam flashes to his dream of Chuck from several months back. In the dream Sam had his hand in his pocket, groping around for the little amulet with his fingers. He was used to having it there. He carried it with him always, put his hand in his pocket to rub the little brass head for reassurance and to give him confidence when he needed it. It was an old habit, one that he'd established long ago to help him cope with the weirdness of his life. But in the dream it wasn't there, and dream-Sam's memory flashed to Dean finding it, drawing it out of Sam's pocket with a shocked look on his face because it was glowing. It worked after all.

After that, Dean had pocketed the thing. Dream-Sam remembered that because it meant so much that Dean took it back, even if he didn't wear it. It went into Dean's pocket and stayed there; dream-Sam thought it was probably still there.

So how did it get here? Did Dean leave it here? Did he give it back to Sam at some point after the dream?

Sam decides that's the most likely scenario. At some point after the events in his Chuck dream but before Dean disappeared in a blaze o' glory, Dean must have given it to Sam. _Keep it safe for me, Sammy. Just like you've always done._

Sam imagines coming back to the bunker after that, imagines lying down on Dean's bed and pressing Dean's pillow to his face, imagines breathing in his brother's scent as he rubs the little talisman with his thumb, then falls asleep on the tear-soaked pillow with his hand tangled in its string. He probably slept in Dean's room every night until he started to go mad, until he decided to find Billie, to make a deal with her to take him instead. Or beg her to take him too.

Maybe this was where Cas found him, dying from an overdose of sleeping pills. Cas fixed him, cleaned up the room, put Sam back in his own bed, leaving the amulet under Dean's pillow.

Now Sam clutches the little symbol, pulls it up to his lips and kisses it.

"I'm coming, Dean," he murmurs as he snuggles down into the bed, pressing his face into the pillow again. "I promise."

Sam has a plan. He knows he's obsessed, probably suicidal, but the dream he's just had gave him back his brother, however fleetingly, and now he knows how that feels. Now Sam knows who he is and what he has to do.

As he falls asleep again he can almost feel a calloused hand sliding across his waist, up over his chest to his heart. Strong fingers clutch his shirt as a warm body presses against him from behind, spooning him firm and close. Warm breath tickles the back of his neck, and a deep voice murmurs into his ear. _That's it, Sammy. That's it, little brother. Just let it all go._

He sleeps dreamlessly this time, tucked in safe and content where he belongs.

**/**//**

In the morning he tells Cas about his dream.

"He's with her, Cas, I'm sure of that now," he says as he paces the library floor, too restless to sit and eat his breakfast, as Cas keeps trying to get him to do. "And he's trying to get back."

"What can you remember, Sam?" Cas asks, and Sam shakes his head.

"It's not like that," he insists. "I still don't have my memories. It's just – in the dream, it's like I did, you know? Like I was myself again. In my dream, I knew him. I remembered him. And now that I know he's trying to get through -– he's trying to get home – I have to find a way to help him."

"Sam, sometimes a dream is just a dream..." Castiel starts to say, but Sam shakes his head sharply.

"That's not what this is," he says firmly. "And it's not really a vision, either. It's something else. It's like a psychic connection or something. And he's doing it. I'm sure of it. He's making it happen. Maybe that's why it didn't happen before. He's trying to communicate with me, telepathically or whatever, and I haven't been receptive before, but last night, sleeping in his bed, with that amulet, after all I've learned...Cas, I have to help him."

They spend the week studying psychic connections. It's not like Sam and Dean haven't used their connection before; Sam's read about the way he could sense Dean's spirit when Dean lay dying in the hospital after the car crash, and when they were trying to find each other in Heaven, when they learned they were soul-mates.

But this is different. They're not even in the same dimension anymore, and wherever Dean is, he's frustrated. He's been trying to get back to Sam for a while now, but he can't do it alone. Sam could feel Dean's faith in Sam's ability to figure it out and come up with a plan like it's something physical. Sam feels _responsible,_ like it's really up to him and Dean's depending on him. Sam still can't remember a thing about his brother when he's awake, but the feeling of remembering everything stays with him from his dreams, and that's enough.

He takes to sleeping in Dean's room, taking african dream root and clutching the amulet as he sleeps, doing whatever he can to trigger another psychic dream. After a week goes by he begins to panic. So far his dreams have been normal or nonexistent; he rarely remembers much about them when he wakes up, which is how he knows they're not significant. If he dreams about Dean again, he'll remember it, he's sure of that.

He needs to get back to Dean. Dean needs him.

Cas watches over him like a mother hen. Sam knows he's being obsessive about the dreaming thing, knows Cas is afraid he'll take it too far and overdose on sleeping potions or otherwise push himself into some kind of permanent dream state, but he doesn't care. If he manages to induce a coma Cas can pull him out. This is too important and he can't stop until he succeeds at getting through to Dean again.

On the seventh night he dreams he's waking up in his own bed, even though he's sure he went to sleep in Dean's. He sits up in bed and realizes instantly that he can remember everything, just like before when he dreamed about Chuck, then about Dean. He has real memories, not just a head full of information he's read. His mind swims in them, memories from his childhood, memories of his hunting life with Dean and his dad and Bobby. He clings to them, gathering them around himself with all the little tricks he's learned to help him hold onto a memory, determined to take them with him into his waking life.

Then he hears it.

"Sammy! Sam? Where are you, man? Sammy!"

He's up and out the door like a shot, barreling down the hallway toward the voice – Dean's voice. He rounds the corner and slams full-bodied into his brother.

"Dean! Jesus, Dean, where've you been, huh? Where've you been?"

Sam's babbling, wrapped around Dean with his cheek pressed against the side of Dean's head, breathing him in as Dean holds onto him just as hard, pushing up on tip-toe so he can pull Sam's face down into his shoulder, his hand tangled in Sam's hair.

"I'm here, Sammy," he rumbles as his hands clutch and release handfuls of Sam's shirts, roaming over his back like he's searching for injuries. "Right here, buddy. Right here. You can't get rid of me that easy, little brother."

"Where've you been, Dean?" Sam fights back the tears smarting at the edges of his vision. "Huh? I've been trying to get back here. I've been doing everything I can think of to get here – "

"I know," Dean murmurs as he strokes Sam's hair. "Me too, Sammy. It's been months."

"Months? Wait, what?" Sam pulls back so he can look down into his brother's familiar face, and he's just so relieved that he recognizes Dean, that he remembers him – he's so relieved that he remembers everything in this dream-place, it's hard to think about anything else. "How can it be months?" He wracks his foggy brain, trying to think clearly in the midst of the onslaught of emotion and memory. "I'm pretty sure it's only been a week since we were here."

"Nah, Sammy, it's been months, man," Dean shakes his head. "I've been looking for you. Trying to figure out how to get you back."

He pulls away but stays close, closer than Sam ever stands to anyone, even Cas. It's weird that he forgot how physical he and Dean are with each other. How has he not missed this? It's like having another limb, this proximity, having Dean in his personal space. How has be not felt the loss?

"Okay, well, that's weird," Sam says. "So time moves differently in your dimension. Okay, we can deal with that. How long was it last time? How long since you'd seen me before that?"

Dean shakes his head. "You were there before, you just acted like you couldn't see me or hear me. Then when I got back with the beer, you were just gone. I searched this place from top to bottom, man. Where were you?"

"I was asleep," Sam says, and nothing ever felt more true. It's like he's been sleeping for years and is only now awake. It's like that other world is the dream, the one he shares with Castiel. "I've been trying to get back to you. No, that's not quite right. I've been trying to get through to you."

It's confusing because it's hard to remember how his awake-self feels, how he thinks. Sam's aware that he's dreaming, and that when he's awake he can't remember his brother. Other than that things are a little fuzzy.

"Well, whatever you did, it worked," Dean says. "Now we just have to find a way out."

"You can't leave the bunker?" Sam asks, and Dean shakes his head.

"Whenever I try, I end up back inside. Every door opens to another room right here."

"And you don't know how you got here?" Sam asks. "You don't remember where you were before you were here?"

Dean shakes his head again, rubbing the back of his neck and frowning as he concentrates, and Sam gets another rush of euphoria because he knows those gestures. He can read Dean like a book. How was he even able to function in that other world without this?

"You're thinking I'm dead," Dean suggests. "I'm dead and in the Empty, and you're trying to join me." His eyes widen as the thought occurs to him and he grabs onto Sam's shirts, shakes him. "Don't tell me you're trying to kill yourself, Sam! God damn it, I told Cas not to let you do anything stupid!"

"No, no, that's not it," Sam closes his hands around Dean's wrists, the warmth of his skin grounding Sam, making this more real. "Cas has been taking care of me. I'm – damaged. I think maybe it happened in the blast, I don't remember."

Dean frowns. "So you're in a coma? Is that what this is? Your using your psychic mojo?"

"No," Sam shakes his head. "Yes. I mean, I don't know. I can't remember exactly, but I think I'm just brain-damaged. I can't remember you, when I'm awake. It sucks. It's like being empty. I can't explain it, exactly, but I know I have to try to get you out. You're being held by Amara, we think. You're with her, not in the Empty."

At least he remembers that much. His memories of that other life are unclear, but he knows that he and Cas have figured out that Dean had somehow been absorbed by the Darkness. He was part of her now. Freeing him was the plan.

Dean lets go of his shirts and takes a step back, clearly skeptical.

"You think Amara's got me," he repeats. "So how come I can't see her? How come she's not here?"

"I don't know, Dean. Maybe you're dreaming, just like me. Maybe you've carved out a place in your mind that feels familiar and safe. Believe me, I know what that's like." Sam shudders as memories of his time in the Cage crowd forward in his mind; he takes a deep breath and shoves them down again. "Maybe this is all _my_ dream, and you're not even here at all."

But Sam knows that's not right. He worked it out in his mind somehow, when he was awake, and he's pretty sure Dean's here, in some way. It's not all Sam's imagination. Sam's so certain he's really talking to Dean right now, he'd bet any possibility of getting his brother back for good on it. He'd bet any memory he's ever had.

"So what's the plan?" Dean asks.

"We look for a way to bust you out of here," Sam says. "From in here. I think Cas and I have already tried out there, in the real world. Now we have to look for something in here."

"Okay," Dean nods. "So what are we looking for? A spell? A weapon? Please tell me it's a weapon, 'cause I am so jonesin' to kill something right now."

Sam takes a deep breath, fighting down the urge to roll his eyes. Is his brother really this annoying? How has that never factored into Sam's desire to get him back? Why has being with Dean always seemed like such a head-rush, when it's also clearly so irritating sometimes? 

"I think we need to start in the library," Sam says as calmly as possible. "I think we need to find out everything the Men of Letters archives have on Amara and breaking free from a dream."

Dean takes a step back, shaking his head once as if to clear it. "Are you saying we've got research to do?"

"I'm saying there might be something in here that isn't there in the real world," Sam says. "There has to be. And if we can find it, well. That's our best chance, Dean. Things are different here. Maybe if we try the same spells from in here, something will work."

"Or maybe we just get in the car and drive," Dean suggests. "Get the hell out of here, right now."

"You said you already tried that," Sam shakes his head. "Every door opens up back here."

"Yeah, but things are different now," Dean reminds him. "You said it yourself. You're here. So maybe if we just get in the car and head out to the local bar – "

Sam stares incredulously. "Dean, there's no way that would work. You're just trying to get out of doing research." _Like you always do._ Sam's so grateful he can remember that, not just that he's read it in those damn books.

"It's worth a shot," Dean shrugs. "I mean, you said it's been a while since we were together. Seems like we're long overdue for a little bonding time."

"You want to ditch research for a chick-flick moment," Sam smirks. "That's low, even for you."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean growls, and Sam's so relieved that he remembers having these snarky exchanges with Dean in the past he almost can't keep his smirk.

"Humor me, Sammy," Dean tries again, and Sam realizes he's been staring. "If it doesn't work, we can get right back in here and start hitting the books. I promise."

"You go." Sam waves a hand. "I'll start work in the library, and when your little joy ride doesn't work out so well and you end up right back here..."

He stops himself because he remembers what happened the last time he let Dean out of his sight in this dream world, how it didn't work out and then took considerable effort to get back here.

Not a good plan.

"Okay, you know what? We'll do it your way," Sam tries not to notice the smug smile Dean flashes because it's a beautiful, sun-breaking-through-the-clouds expression, and Sam has never seen anything that makes him happier. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

Sam had every expectation of driving out of the garage right back into the garage, which is why he gasps when they're suddenly on the road, heading north.

"Oh my God, it worked!" Sam lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding as Dean flashes him another million-megawatt smile.

It's late and the stars are on full display because they're miles from any real town here. They head north to Nebraska because nothing in Lebanon is open this late. It feels incredible to be out on the open road together again. It's like nothing Sam remembers from his other life. It's freedom, hope, passion for life, the promise of adventure and doing good in the world, all shared with this man, this brave, gorgeous, maddening man who loves Sam more than he deserves. It's an intensity of experience that was lacking in that other, grayer world. Here, even in the dark, everything seems clearer, sharper, more defined.

Sam rolls down the window a little and takes a deep breath of the fresh Kansas night air. It smells like early spring, like the hint of melting snow and frost over slowly warming soil and old cornstalks. He rolls the window back up and stares at Dean's profile, watching his brother's capable hands clutch the steering wheel, admiring his powerful denim-clad legs, splayed with that easy confidence that makes Sam feel safe. Dean has issues, Sam knows, but he's one-hundred-percent sure of his place behind the wheel of his Baby, driving down the road of their crazy lives with his brother by his side.

Dean glances over, like he can feel Sam staring, and winks.

"See? I told you so," he says smugly. "All it took was you coming with me. We're free."

Sam winces and sucks in a breath, wishing it were that easy. "Yeah, except there's the little problem of this – all of this – being a dream. We're still in my dream, Dean. None of this is real."

"Real enough," Dean counters, and Sam falls silent, stares ahead at the asphalt illuminated by the headlights, relaxing into the vinyl bench-seat, letting the familiar rumble of the car's engine and the warmth of the heater soothe him. It's hypnotic, the highway falling away beneath the twin beams of light, the only visual cues that they're actually moving. The Kansas landscape is flat and featureless, not giving away any sign of time passing, and it's as if Sam and Dean are encased in a world apart, a dream-within-a-dream, where nothing can touch them and nothing ever changes.

 _Maybe we're dead and we just don't realize it,_ Sam thinks idly. Somehow this thought doesn't even faze him. In fact, it fills him with peace. No more striving and struggling, no more fixing things, no more fighting.

No more saving people.

"We have to go back," Sam says softly. "We've still got work to do."

"Huh," Dean says, keeping his eyes on the road. "Somehow I never figured you'd be the one to say that. Always figured you'd wanna keep running, if we had the chance."

Sam smiles, rueful. "Yeah, well, if this is just a dream and it's all in my head, then technically you're just the part of me that's trying to distract me from what I'm really supposed to be doing here."

"Which is – ?"

"Getting the job done," Sam shrugs. "Duh."

"I thought the job was getting me free from Amara," Dean says. "Seems to me, mission accomplished."

Sam shakes his head. "If that were true, I'd be awake. I'd be awake, and you'd be there. I can't stay here with you, in this dream. I have to try to get you back in the real world."

"In the real world, you don't even remember who I am," Dean reminds him, and Sam clenches his jaw.

"I know," he nods. "But it's what I'm supposed to do. The world needs you, Dean. The real world."

"What about you, Sam? Huh? Do _you_ need me? I mean, you've got Cas, right? You've got your wingman, literally. What do you need an old broken down brother for? Especially one you can't even remember."

Sam snorts. "Are you jealous? Of Cas? Really? Dean, you do realize he was following _your_ orders, right? He watched over me after you left. He took care of me when I got too sick to take care of myself, and he kept me alive when I would have died trying to make a deal with Billie to get you back. And through all of it, he was just doing what you asked him to do. You should be thanking him. You're the one who told him he was like a brother to us. So how can you blame him when he acts like one?"

"Okay, okay," Dean lifts a hand, shooting a a glare at Sam. "I get it. And I am grateful to him. I just hope I get the chance to tell him to his face."

"So turn the car around, Dean," Sam nods. "Let's go home."

Dean grumbles under his breath, something about "bitchy little brothers who think they're so hot," which Sam ignores because Dean's slowing the car, pulling off to the side of the road so he can make a U-turn.

Dean's easing the car onto the highway in the opposite direction, heading back the way they just came, when they see it. A light like an on-coming Mack truck that's somehow right there, soundless and without warning, growing brighter and larger until it fills the night around them. It rushes toward them too fast for Dean to swerve, too big to be a truck. Dean slams on the breaks and flings one arm across the seat in front of Sam as if he can somehow protect him from going through the windshield. Sam has a split second to consider that this might really be the end.

Then he wakes up.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's breathing hard, sweating in Dean's bed. Cas is standing over him, gazing down with an expression at once quizzical and concerned. He's clearly unsure whether he should have been trying to wake Sam up.

"Fuck!" Sam runs a hand through his hair as he sits up, pushing the blankets away. He clings to the vestiges of the dream, still main-lining adrenaline as he grabs hold of Cas's arm just to have something – someone – solid to hold onto. "What the hell just happened?"

Cas's familiar face is creased with concern. "You were dreaming," he states the obvious. Then you started thrashing your arms and legs. You appeared to be in some distress, and I was just about to try to wake you when you woke up."

"Fuck," Sam runs his hand through his hair again. "I was with Dean, and we were in the car, and then this bright light came at us and I thought we were done for – Fuck. What just happened?"

"Since you are repeating the question, I must assume you are referring to the events in the dream," Cas says with infuriating calm.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam nods, shaking his head as he struggles to recall the memories and feelings in the dream as they slide away. "It was like an explosion, or like being hit by a truck head-on." Then a thought occurs to him and he gasps, staring up at Castiel as terror washes over him. "Oh shit, Castiel. She found him. Amara found him. That's what that was. He was hiding and he got away – we got away in the Impala, and we were driving but I told him we needed to go back so he turned the car around and then – Oh shit, Cas. Oh shit!"

He pulls away as wave after wave of grief hits him. He's fucked up. He'll never see Dean again, even in his dreams. It overwhelms him, filling him with despair. He buries his head in his hands and rocks miserably on the bed for several moments as Cas stands by helplessly, arms hanging stiffly at his sides.

"Sam, it is possible that your dream, however real it may have seemed, was simply an ordinary dream," Cas reminds him. "It may be that you were simply having a nightmare."

"No," Sam shakes his head vigorously. "That's not what this was. I had all my memories, I knew Dean, this dream was a sequel to the last one, down to every detail. That's too much coincidence for this to have been anything but an actual psychic phenomenon. And Dean's causing it. He was trying to break free from wherever she's got him held, and now I've ruined it. Now she'll never let him go. She'll never let him hide from her again. And it's all my fault!"

"Sam..."

"I know how these things go, Cas," Sam insists, rising from the bed with an angry wave of dismissal. "I was the captive of the greatest evil the world has ever known, before the Darkness. I know, Cas, okay? I know."

"Sam, I don't mean to argue, but Dean's relationship to Amara is not quite as contentious as your relationship to Lucifer," Cas offers. "It is unlikely that she means him any real harm. Her fascination with him more closely resembles that of a human with a beloved pet, or perhaps a human who adopts the beloved pet of an estranged sibling..."

"Yeah, a sibling who wants you locked away for all eternity," Sam snarks, pacing the room angrily. "Amara may be curious about Dean, but she hates what he represents. Plus, he came to her with a bomb in his chest. How long before she starts hating on him for that?"

"Apparently, her brother's creation was only possible because of her," Castiel reminds him. "In essence, she had a hand in God's creation. It is therefore at least partly her creation as well."

"Bring it down to earth, Cas," Sam scolds. "It's always about basic family dynamics. Amara's brother locked her up, so when she gets out she's pissed at him and by extension everything he's made without her. Everything."

"Or maybe she just wants him to care." Castiel shrugs. "Maybe all her displays of anger and destruction were for God's sake. To get his attention. To get him to notice her. Maybe she was just being an annoying little sister looking for approval from her big brother in the only way she knows how."

Sam stops pacing and scrubs a hand over his face. He's tired, and now that the dream has faded he just wants to sleep, to forget all of this. Maybe Cas was right to take his memories away in the first place. Maybe he's better off just letting Dean go.

But he knows he can't. He won't. In his dream, Sam had a vague memory of stopping his search for his brother once before, long ago, and although he doesn't remember the details, he remembers the guilt. The regret.

He won't stop trying to get Dean back. Not this time.

They try to get Sam back to that dream world several times over the next week, but nothing seems to work. Cas finally refuses to help, and he and Sam have their first real fight, which ends with Sam stomping off to the garage and slamming the door. Gabriel has a lead on Lucifer, and Castiel flies off angrily. It's probably just as well. Sam knows he'll be back.

The Impala sits in the middle of the bunker's garage, amid the dust-covered classic cars from earlier times, and Sam can't help but be drawn to it. Sam knows how important this car was to Dean, even if he can't recall the memories themselves. Sam's learned enough now to understand why Dean loved this car so much, and when he crosses the room and lays his hand on its hood, he can almost feel the rumble of the engine under him, can almost imagine Dean in the driver's seat beside him.

The car needs her spark plugs changed, so Sam gathers his gauge and some new plugs, drives the car out into the shadow of the old cedar tree just outside the garage door. It's a warm spring day, sun shining, birds singing. As Sam lifts the hood he hears a rustle of wings behind him and turns toward the sound, half expecting to see Castiel standing there, his handsome face a mask of hopeful contrition.

"Forgive me, Sam," he would say. "I was out of line. Of course your search for your brother takes precedence over all other concerns."

But Cas isn't there. Instead, a flock of crows rises over the newly-budding cornfield across the road, and Sam watches them for a moment as they circle, oddly silent except for the flapping of their huge, black wings.

Then a movement on the road causes Sam's gaze to drop from the birds to the asphalt. It's too far away to tell, but there's a figure there, almost at the edge of the horizon, where Sam knows there's an intersection without road signs because he's driven that way a thousand times.

Sam wipes his hands on his oil rag, then shades his eyes, squinting in the morning sunlight as the figure moves closer. It's a man, approaching slowly but steadily, with a jacket or maybe an over-shirt wrapped around his waist as if he's overheated from his walk. At first Sam thinks he's limping because there's something a little cock-eyed about his gait. But as he gets closer Sam realizes the man is bow-legged, so that his hips roll as he walks.

Sam watches with fascination as the man gets close enough to hail, but something holds him back. Instead, Sam and the stranger regard each other steadily and cautiously until the man is only a few feet away. Sam knows he should say something. His hunter's instincts warn him that this could be anyone, or anything. A monster come to kill him, another hunter seeking vengeance.

But Sam recognizes this man. He's seen him in his dreams.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says softly, his voice deep and familiar. Sam nods.

"Dean." He takes a quick breath. "Is it really you?"

"It's me," Dean nods. "You should test me with everything you've got, but yeah. It's really me."

"I believe you," Sam says, wiping his hands again just to have something to do. "What happened?"

Dean takes a deep breath, and Sam can see his eyes glistening in the sun. "She let me go, Sam," he answers, and his voice catches. "She just – she said she understood now."

"Understood what?" Sam demands, feeling snappish for no reason that he can figure.

"She understood what we mean to each other, you and me," Dean says, and now Sam can see the film of tears over his eyes. "She gets it. And she's just glad to have her brother back."

"Me too," Sam whispers. He puts the crag down on the Impala's engine, takes two giant steps forward, and gathers Dean into a rough embrace. He breathes in all the unfamiliar scents that flood his mind with sense-memories from his dreams, sense-memories that are no less intense for being dream-like. He buries his face in the crook of Dean's neck and lets them wash over him.

"Okay, okay, you know the drill," Dean says when he finally pulls away. He tests himself with holy water and a silver knife from the Impala's trunk while Sam watches, then binds his own bleeding hand and turns his attention to the car. "So how long has it been? She looks great."

"Almost two years," Sam answers, watching Dean's face as he takes this in. He seems stunned at first, and his eyes fill with tears again as he glances up at Sam, then back at the car. Sam has an overwhelming urge to gather him up in his arms, but he doesn't feel he has the right. Dean belongs to that other Sam, the one who remembers him.

Dean helps change the spark-plugs, then the oil. He checks the Impala's other fluid levels and pronounces the car in good condition.

"Do you want to take her for a spin?" Sam suggests, observing the relief in Dean's eyes as he slides behind the wheel and pulls her familiar smell into his lungs.

"No dog this time, huh?" he asks in response, and Sam frowns, feels that familiar hesitation in his brain when no memory comes forth to explain Dean's question, followed by shame. He should know what Dean is talking about but he just doesn't.

Dean's looking at him funny, and Sam shrugs and looks away, shifting uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry," he mutters. "I don't remember."

He hears Dean suck in a breath. "Never mind," he says softly. "It was a stupid joke. Yeah, come on. Let's go. You probably don't have anything to eat in the bunker anyway, and I'm starving!"

They head out onto the highway in the midday sun, sneaking sidelong glances at each other. Sam can't help comparing this drive to the one in his dream. He sits stiffly in the passenger seat, tension and nervous energy making his knee bounce, until Dean reaches across and lays his hand on it, warm and firm.

"You just don't remember much, do you?" Dean asks, and Sam shakes his head, biting on his lip now that his knee is still.

"I know you from dreams, Dean," he says hesitantly. "And pictures on the internet."

Dean nods, keeping his eyes on the road. Sam watches his jaw clench, remembers feeling safe and protected when he looked at Dean's profile in his dream.

"I remember those dreams, too," Dean says. "They're pretty fuzzy, though. I remember you telling me you couldn't remember me in the real world."

"Yeah," Sam nods. "It's all sense memories and what I've read about you – about us – online."

"And Cas did this to you?"

"Cas fixed me when I was in pretty bad shape, Dean," Sam says, immediately defensive about his friend. "He saved my life."

"Yeah, I get that," Dean says, jaw clenching again, and Sam thinks he understands. He read about what happened to Sam while Dean was in Hell.

"Cas isn't Ruby, Dean," Sam says, still defensive. "It's not like he's been filling me full of demon blood these past two years."

Dean's glance is sharp, incredulous. "I can't believe you said that," he says. "You would never say that. The Sam I know would never bring that bitch up. Okay, you know what? I think we're done here. I think we need to test _you._ "

He pulls the car over onto the shoulder and stops, then gets out and slams the door. Sam gets out too, stands next to the car and watches as Dean digs the holy water and silver knife out of the trunk. He stands his ground stubbornly as Dean tests him, managing not to flinch as Dean cuts him, although it isn't the pain that affects him as much as having his hand cradled in Dean's. His skin is work-calloused, just like Sam's sense memory, and it makes Sam's heart race, makes him shiver.

Dean drops Sam's hand immediately and backs off, skittish. He paces back and forth, scrubs a hand over his face, keeps glancing at Sam like he thinks he'll disappear any moment.

"Okay, you know what? This is just fuckin' weird for me," Dean says finally. "I come back to find you've been shacking up with an angel, and you let him _change_ you. How is that different from what happened the last time? Huh? I'm trying to wrap my mind around this, Sam, I really am."

Sam feels a rush of shame at Dean's accusation, almost as if he really were cheating on Dean. As if he and Castiel were lovers. Then he's blushing at a sense memory of firm, warm skin under his hands, a strong male body pressed against his.

"It's not like that, Dean," Sam protests, fighting down the heat rising in his cheeks. "Castiel and I are just friends. He's just been doing what you told him to do. Taking care of me. Without my memories, I'm kind of fucked-up. I remember how to do stuff, how to hunt, how to do everything, really, just without the context. Since, apparently, _you_ were my context."

"Damn straight, I was," Dean stops pacing and stares at Sam, and Sam can see his anger slip away, replaced by something that looks like helpless frustration. "It's just, every time I leave, you end up different."

Sam takes a deep breath. "I thought you were dead, Dean," he says. "Then when I found out you weren't, I did everything I could think of to get you back, because that's what we do for each other, right? Even without my memories, I know that much."

Dean blinks rapidly at him, and Sam realizes he's got tears in his eyes again. It's something Sam's read about in the books, Dean's proclivity for wearing his heart on his sleeve, but seeing it in real life is almost overwhelming for Sam. All these feelings directed at Sam make Sam feel inadequate, seriously wanting emotionally. He knows he loves his brother, knows he should feel deeply right now, but his stupid memory-loss prevents that and just makes him feel guiltier. Dean doesn't deserve this.

"Okay," Dean says finally, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "We can deal with this, just like we deal with everything. We'll find a way to fix it, put you back the way you were before, then we'll move on. Just like we always do."

Sam doesn't have the heart to explain that he and Cas have already tried everything they could to reverse Sam's memory impairment. If Dean needed to believe he could fix it, Sam's not about to burst his bubble. Not within the first couple of hours after his return, at least. There'd be time to talk about it when they got back to the bunker.

Besides, maybe Dean's fresh perspective on the problem would yield some answers that Sam and Cas haven't thought of. It's worth a shot anyway, and Sam has a feeling he'd trusted his brother's instincts in the past for a reason. Dean's a gifted hunter, and maybe his considerable problem-solving skills really could fix this particular problem. Sam had always believed in Dean in the past, he knows that much, even if he can't remember exactly how that felt.

When they get to the diner in Kearney, Sam calls Jody to tell her the good news, and of course she's thrilled and asks to talk to Dean immediately.

When Dean hands the phone back, his fingers brush Sam's; he catches Sam's gaze and holds it for a moment, and Sam knows Jody's been singing his praises, which makes him blush.

"I owe you one, Jody," Sam tells her, dragging his eyes away from Dean. "I never would've found him if it wasn't for you."

"How's Castiel?" she asks.

"I haven't told him yet," Sam admits. "When I figured out what I needed to do to contact Dean, Cas and I had a little disagreement about methods. He took off early this morning, just before Dean came back."

"Sam, I know it's none of my business, but that angel loves you. He only does what he does because he thinks it's best for you."

Sam feels like he's twenty years younger suddenly, like Jody's his mom. He nods because he's a little choked up, then manages a sniffled, "I know," after he clears his throat.

In the diner, Dean watches Sam over the top of his menu till Sam puts his own menu down.

"What?" he demands.

"Nothin'." Dean shrugs, gazing unseeing at his menu. "Jody says you only found out about me a couple of months ago."

"That's right." Sam nods. "We were on a case near Sioux Falls, and she was in on it."

"So Cas lied to you all that time? Took away your memories and lied to you about your past?"

Sam takes a deep breath, shakes his head sharply. "He didn't exactly lie," he says. "He just didn't fill in the blanks. And there were a lot of blanks. So I – mostly I made assumptions, you know? I was brain-damaged, and he was my caretaker."

"So he let you believe things that weren't true," Dean clarifies. "That's called lying, Sam."

Sam shakes his head. "No, it isn't," he insists. "It's not like Cas was trying to deliberately deceive me. If I asked direct questions, he always gave me pretty straight answers."

"But you thought he'd been with you since you were a kid," Dean says. "That's a pretty big deception right there, Sam. He let you think he was your lifelong guardian angel. What kind of shit is that?"

The waitress arrives at that moment to take their order, and Dean watches Sam like a hawk as he orders his salad and a plain turkey sandwich on wheat bread, hold the mayo. Sam stares as Dean orders a bacon-cheeseburger with extra onions and wonders how he can be related to this guy.

"I had sense memories of somebody taking care of me, when I was a kid," Sam says when the waitress leaves them alone again. "Somebody besides Dad. I figured it was Cas, but I never asked him to confirm that. I didn't think I needed to. It felt like there'd been something wrong with me all my life, and he'd always been there to look out for me."

"That was me, Sam," Dean growls. "I was the one looking out for you."

"I know that now," Sam nods.

Dean stares at him for another moment then shakes his head. "This is just so fuckin' weird," he admits. "You're probably not even that glad to see me. Probably didn't even miss me much."

"I guess I did before Cas fixed me," Sam reminds him. "Nearly died trying to get you back, apparently. Plus, once Jody helped me figure everything out, I got back to work trying to find you. Then I had those dreams, and there you were, trying to get back."

"Of course I was." Dean shrugs. "I couldn't stay with her forever. I needed to get back to you before you did something stupid. I knew you'd think I was dead, and that's never good."

Their food arrives, and for a few minutes they eat in silence, stealing glances at each other, then looking away as soon as they notice the other one looking. It feels like an awkward first date. When Sam's foot knocks against Dean's under the table he jumps, pulling his foot back with a mumbled "sorry" that makes Dean frown.

"So – Amara," Sam tries after too many minutes have gone by.

"What about her?" Dean growls, pissed off about something. Again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What do you think, Sam?" Dean grouses.

"I'm just wondering what happened, that's all."

"She agreed to my terms," Dean mumbles. "Stop destroying the world if I came with her."

"And the bomb – ?"

"She defused it, of course," Dean shrugs. "Knew it was there right away."

"So that flash of light I saw – "

"Was just her uniting with Chuck and turning the sun on again," Dean says.

"She and Chuck? Together?"

"Yeah, I don't remember a lot about that part," Dean admits. "I kept trying to convince her that she needed him the way I – Well, I just figured if she could see how important family is, maybe she'd make up with Chuck and let his creation go, you know? Seemed like it was worth a shot."

"But she kept you," Sam says. "You were her prisoner."

"Yeah, I guess I was," Dean agrees, avoiding Sam's eyes.

"But when I first found you in my dream, you said you'd been trying to get through to me for a while," Sam coaxes.

"Yeah, I guess I was," Dean says again, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His knee knocks against Sam's under the table and Sam forces himself not to pull away, to let Dean's leg lean easily against his. "It's pretty fuzzy, to be honest. Felt like just a few months, but you say it's been two years." Dean shakes his head. "That's gonna take some getting used to."

Dean asks about the others, about Crowley and Rowena and the archangels, and Sam fills him in as best he can from his dream-memories and discussions with Castiel.

"So Lucifer's still in the wind." Dean nods as Sam pays the check and they get up to leave. "Seems like putting him away again is our top priority, wouldn't you say? After we get you fixed up."

Sam says nothing, and he can feel Dean frowning at his back as he leads the way to the car, almost gets into the driver's seat before he remembers. It's going to take a little getting used to, he decides as he slides into the passenger seat.

When they get back to the bunker, Castiel is already there, the look of contrition which Sam had expected to see on his face replaced with a look of shock as he sees Dean.

"Dean!" The angel barrels past Sam and straight into Dean, practically knocking him over as he embraces Sam's brother. Sam watches his angel respond to Dean with utter familiarity and he feels like an outsider, almost a voyeur. He knows that Castiel saved Dean from Hell, and that they had a special bond as a result. Sam thinks he should feel a little jealousy right now.

None of his feelings are right except the shame he feels for not remembering the things he thinks he should. 

"Hey, uh, Sam's filled me in on what happened after I left," Dean says when he pulls away, holding Cas at arms length. "I want you to know I'm grateful for what you did. For looking after Sam. I know it wasn't easy, and you had to take some drastic measures."

He glances as Sam, like he expects a sympathetic look, or maybe gratitude that he's keeping his temper and not berating the angel for messing up his brother the way he did in the diner.

Sam nods his encouragement and approval, and Dean takes another step back, facing Castiel again.

"So just, thank you, Cas, for looking after Sam while I was gone. I know you probably had to put aside some of your angel stuff over the past two years, and I'm – I'm grateful, man. You really are a brother."

Sam frowns. He's aware that Castiel spent all that time with him, and he had understood after reading the _Supernatural_ books that Castiel usually had other things he did that had more to do with Heaven and the angels. It had plagued him variously through the past year-and-a-half, off and on, but he believed Cas when the angel told him there was no place he'd rather be. It had been important to Sam that this was true, that he wasn't being a burden or preventing Castiel from doing something else. Now he feels another rush of shame at the idea that Castiel was lying to him about that, as well...

"Believe me, Dean, there was nowhere I would rather have been," Castiel intones, somehow understanding what Sam needed to hear. "Sam needed me. I have never been necessary to anyone like that. It was an honor, and an experience that I will cherish always." He looks up at Sam, and there's a film of tears over his lovely blue eyes. "Sam and I share a profound bond. Different, perhaps, from the one you and I share, but no less profound."

"Yeah, well, I think this calls for some beer." Dean lowers his eyes and shifts awkwardly. "Then it sounds like we've got work to do."

While Dean gets the beer – and Sam fights back the urge to prevent him from leaving the room because he remembers too clearly what happened after that in his dream – Castiel turns his sorrowful eyes up to Sam.

"I am sorry, Sam," he says, "for not believing you when you insisted that Dean was alive, and for refusing to believe that your dreams were a real psychic phenomenon. I see now that I was wrong. I was afraid you were starting down the same path of obsession and self-harm that nearly got you killed last year, and I couldn't see past that to consider the possibility that what you were experiencing was more than a simple dream. I see now that you were right. Your bond with your brother has saved you both. Again."

"It's okay, Cas." Sam puts his hand on Cas's shoulder and squeezes. Cas steps forward impulsively and wraps his arms around Sam. It's different from hugging Dean – more familiar, but without all the sense memories.

"Okay, okay, here we go." Dean clears his throat as he enters the room, three beer bottles dangling from one hand. Sam and Cas separate, and Sam fights down a pang of guilt, as if he's been caught making out with Castiel instead of merely hugging him.

Dean twists open a beer and hands it to Sam, who takes it awkwardly, ignoring his irritation at being treated like someone who can't even open his own beer because he knows that's not Dean's intention. It must be a habit, one of the ways Dean has offered his affection and care-giving over the years, if only Sam could remember.

When he does the same for Castiel, Sam knows he's right. Cas is an honorary brother now, so he gets treated like a younger sibling, too.

"Here's to us kicking the Darkness's ass," Dean raises his bottle, and the others raise theirs and wait while Dean clinks his bottle against first Sam's, then Castiel's bottle. Then Sam touches his bottle to Cas's, smiling his reassurance, and Dean frowns. Apparently that look was supposed to be for him. Castiel watches as Dean and Sam take swigs of their beer, and Sam grins as Castiel follows their lead, making a face as the cold liquid pours down his throat.

"I have never understood why humans enjoy alcohol so much," he says, and Dean chuckles.

"That's because you can't get drunk," he says with a wink at Sam, who blushes to the roots of his hair and lowers his eyes. When he looks up again Dean's watching him, a speculative look in his eye that Sam can't quite read. It makes the blood rush to Sam's groin, though, and he chews on his bottom lip. He watches Dean tilt his head back as he takes another sip of his beer, full, wet lips pressed to the mouth of the bottle, powerful neck muscles moving as he swallows.

If Sam wasn't missing all memory of Dean flirting with him, he'd say this was it.

Dean pulls the bottle off with a smack. He licks his lips slowly before lifting his eyes to Sam, holding his gaze with a smirk on the edges of his perfect mouth. Now it's pretty clear he's flirting. It doesn't take any memories at all to figure that out.

"So what've you got on Lucifer?" Dean asks Castiel, although his eyes linger on Sam's another moment and his smirk widens just a little when he turns away, as though he's feeling a little smug about the effect he's having.

Sam turns away with a scowl and rolls his eyes, but Dean's right. Sam's definitely affected. How did that other Sam ever manage this? Dean's a walking promise of sensual pleasures beyond anything Sam can imagine, and Sam's supposed to resist that because Dean's his brother? What kind of cosmic joke is God playing here?

They spend the afternoon going over Castiel's leads. Apparently, Lucifer has been moonlighting as a rockstar, a televangelist, and an actor on a reality TV show called "Ask the Devil If He Cares." He's being embarrassingly obvious, according to Castiel, as if he's flaunting it in their faces that he knows he can't be stopped.

And while Michael has been busy in Heaven, fixing all the chaos among the angels there, Gabriel and Castiel have discussed plans for taking Lucifer down and caging him again, with or without Michael's help.

"Of course, as his former vessel, he can sense me when I come anywhere near him," Castiel reminds the Winchesters. "Sam, too. When it comes to capturing Lucifer, it may come down to you and Gabriel, Dean."

"I can do that," Dean says, all bluster and bravado, but Sam catches the fleeting glimpse of fear in his eyes.

"Let's see what we can come up with that doesn't involve Dean sacrificing himself to save the world again," Sam says gruffly. "He's been home from his last gig for less than a day. I think we need to give it a break, don't you?"

When he was met with two sets of concerned looks, Sam threw his hands up.

"What? You think I'm being out of character here? The old Sam Winchester would just say, 'Oh, sure, go right ahead and kill yourself again, Dean. Fine by me!'"

"If that's what it takes to put Lucifer away, Sam, then yes, I'm willing to die," Dean growls. "It's Lucifer, Sam! You of all people know how important it is to stop him."

Sam flashes back to his dream about Chuck; he thinks he can almost remember having a conversation with Dean along these very lines, but he's not sure whether they were talking about Amara or Lucifer. It's all too fuzzy.

Sam doesn't realize he's bent over and clutching his head until Dean's hands are on him, strong and reassuring, petting his hair and guiding him to the armchair in the corner, the one Chuck sat in in Sam's dream.

"Hey," Dean soothes, close to his ear. "Hey, buddy. You having one of your psychic episodes again? Huh? Is that what this is?"

Sam's head hurts, but he imagines it's not quite like those visions he used to get, not that he can remember. He clutches Dean's arm and the front of his shirt as his brother starts to pull away, blinks up at him as Dean's features swim in front of his eyes, familiar and beloved one moment, strange and sinfully attractive the next.

"I don't want to lose you again," Sam chokes brokenly. "I need to get to know you. I feel like I'm supposed to know you."

Dean blinks, frowns, runs his hand through Sam's hair as he gazes into his face, searching for something.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam," he says quietly. "I'm right here, okay? I'll be right here as long as you need me."

Sam shivers, Dean's deep voice resonating through his bones as if it comes from inside his head, like it has done over the past year and a half, steadying him and keeping him sane.

"I think we need to take a break for today," Dean tells Cas. "Maybe get some food, get some rest, start again in the morning. What do you say?"

Castiel nods. "I will make soup," he announces. "Sam likes soup. When he's having an episode, it is the only food he will take."

"An episode," Dean repeats, straightening so he can turn to Cas. Sam tries not to reach for him, to maintain contact the way he wants to, to keep himself grounded. "So you've seen this before."

Cas nods. "At first, after his memories were wiped, he was happier," Cas explains. "He seemed content to go on an occasional hunt, but mostly he spent hours organizing the archives here. Then about six months ago, he began having migraines. I assumed they were a normal side-effect of his brain healing itself. Usually they would pass after he slept, so I gave him soup and put him to bed, and he was better in the morning. He forgot all about the migraine each time he had one, so I wasn't concerned."

"Hey, I'm right here," Sam reminds them, running a hand through his hair as he lifts his head, regarding them both irritably. "You talk about me like I'm some kind of mental patient. Like I'm sick."

"You _are_ sick, Sam," Dean growls. "You're not yourself, okay? Your memories are gone, and now I find out you've been having episodes..."

"There may be an explanation for those," Castiel says. "You say you started trying to contact Sam six months ago. Perhaps his migraines were a response to that psychic connection."

"See?" Sam throws a grateful look at Cas before peering up at Dean. "I'm not sick."

"So you're saying those migraines were just Sam's attempt to tune into my bat signal," Dean raises an eyebrow. "Of course they were. I always knew your telepathy thing was good for something."

"No, you didn't." Sam shakes his head. "You always thought it was caused by my demon-blood infection."

"You remember that?" Dean asks sharply.

"I read it online, Dean," Sam sighs. "In those _Supernatural_ books."

"Oh. Right." Dean deflates a little. "Okay, but here's what I don't get. If those episodes were Sam Winchester Radio receiving my signal, what's going on now? Why would he have an episode when I'm right here in the room with him?"

"Uh, feedback, maybe?" Sam ventures. "You know, that high-pitched sound that happens when the receiver and the signal are too close together?"

Castiel shakes his head. "When Sam had one of his seizures, he usually passed out afterwards, and he never remembered it when he woke up. This is something else. It may be nothing psychic at all. Just Sam responding normally to having you back. You are soul-bonded, after all. Simply to be united must be a great relief for you both, physically as well as emotionally."

"Okay, I've heard enough," Dean licks his lips nervously and won't look Sam in the eye, so Sam suspects Castiel has hit the nail on the head. "Time for food, then sleep."

Sam's knees are a little weak, but he gets up with Dean's help and manages to make it into the kitchen. While Dean heats the soup, Castiel stands around awkwardly, unsure what to do now that his care-giving duties have been returned to their previous owner. Sam reaches out a hand, gesturing to him with an encouraging smile until Cas moves closer and lets Sam take his hand.

"Come sit with me," Sam commands, and Cas complies without question, sitting just as stiffly as he stood. Sam keeps hold of his hand for another moment, squeezing it before he lets it go, and Cas leaves it on the table, his other arm hanging awkwardly at his side.

When Sam looks up, Dean's frowning at them from his place by the stove where he's stirring the soup. He says nothing, but Sam can tell he's not happy, and it fills Sam with that strange combination of shame and defiance that he's already felt several times today. Dean disapproves of his relationship with Cas. He's jealous, sure, but he's also feeling guilty, which Sam understands. Dean feels he should have been here, that he should have been the one caring for Sam when Sam needed it. But that's impossible, and it irritates Sam that Dean should be so stubborn in his disapproval. He needs to get past it and be grateful, damn it.

_How the fuck do I know that?_ he asks himself, and of course he gets no answer because Dean's not in his head anymore. Dean's not snarking at him about how he should "damn well know that, Sam!" because he's right here now. For real.

Sam finishes his soup under the watchful gaze of his brother and his angel, then pushes his chair back with a loud screech.

"I'm going to bed," he announces, unable to look either of his caregivers in the eye. "Alone."

Cas flinches, and Sam could have caught the startled glare Dean threw at Castiel if he'd cared enough. He knows Castiel's expression is a mixture of chagrin and that weird brand of angel curiosity that sometimes comes across as arrogance.

Sam knows his angel too well. Cas is feeling a tiny bit triumphant and he's trying not to show it.

"He -– He lets you watch him sleep?" Dean hisses.

Sam's left the kitchen and is already in the hall, but the weird acoustics of the bunker ensure he can hear Dean's question, even as he's walking away.

He doesn't hear Castiel's response, but he can guess what his face looks like.

This is so fucked up.

Sam stumbles when he gets to Dean's door; he slept there last night, like he's done for the past two months, and he knows the bed is a mess, but he's too tired to deal with it. Dean can sleep in one of the spare rooms if he wants. Sam keeps going, around the corner and down the hall, finally pushing the door of his own room open, kicking off his boots as he goes. He knows he should shower and brush his teeth, should probably take his clothes off, for God's sake. But he's bone-weary, barely awake, and within a minute after collapsing face-down across his bed he's out.

It's been a long day.

Sometime in the night, or maybe just an hour later, he thinks he can hear voices. There's no way he's waking up, but Dean and Cas seem to be talking in the hallway right outside his door, like they were checking on him. Sam's so tired and mostly asleep that he doesn't move, stays where he is, only half-aware of the low voices, letting the familiar sounds comfort him. He feels like a child whose parents are checking on him before they go to bed.

"You have to make Gabriel fix him," Dean rumbles quietly, all rancor gone from his voice, and it occurs to Sam that Dean and Cas have been up talking, They've hashed things out between them while Sam's been sleeping.

"I can try," Castiel answers, just as quietly.

"He's having seizures and black-outs, Cas," Dean says forcefully. "He can't directly remember anything about his past." He can't remember _me,_ he doesn't say, but Sam hears it anyway.

"Gabriel expressed reservations about what I did for Sam in the first place," Castiel says, his voice rueful and full of doubt. "I am not sure he would help me now."

"So make a deal. Tell Gabriel you'll help him, but on one condition."

Castiel is silent for a moment, and Sam imagines them both standing in his doorway, watching him sleep.

Not creepy at all.

"I will try," Castiel says finally. "He does seem to need my help. And you are here now, so my work here is done."

"Don't say that, Cas," Dean says softly. "You'll always be welcome here. You know that."

Cas hesitates, then sucks in a breath. "He always believed in you," he says. "Against all odds, even when I didn't agree, he insisted that you were trying to get through to him. He knew that you would try everything to get home to him. Even without his memories, he knows you. He has tremendous faith, Dean. In you."

"Of course he does," Dean breathes, and Sam can hear the fondness in his voice, along with the teasing tone Sam always finds so annoying, although he can't consciously remember why.

Sam drifts then, and if he were awake enough he would see Cas and Dean pulling his door shut quietly, leaving him to his rest. If he were a camera mounted in the hall he might be able to follow Dean to his own room, after Cas says goodnight and disappears to go have it out with Gabriel, to make his deal. He might see Dean stopping for a moment in the doorway to his own room, observe the mess. If he were a fly on the wall, Sam might see Dean's expression shift from surprise to annoyance to realization as it hits him that this is where Sam has been spending his nights over the past few months, dreaming his way back to his brother.

If Sam were one of the room's light-fixtures he would see Dean undress down to his tee-shirt and boxers, then slip into the bed, pressing his face into the Sam-scented pillow. He would see Dean hesitate as his fingers find the little amulet, as he pulls it out and stares at it for a moment, frowning. Then Sam would see Dean lay the little charm on the bedside table, next to the picture of Mary and little-boy Dean. He would see Dean reach up to turn out the light, snuggle down into the bed that smells like old sweat and Sam.

If Sam were in Dean's mind he would hear his own voice, murmuring, "It's okay, Dean. You're home now. We're gonna figure it out together, just like we always have."

If Sam were in Dean's dreams he would see himself, standing strong and proud and tall, giving Dean a shy dimpled grin as Dean walks toward him, waiting.


End file.
